It's that time of the year folks. 

No, I'm not referring to autumn, though it is lovely right now in My Little Corner of Texas. 

Not talking about football season either, it is in full swing around these parts.

Baseball playoffs? Nope. The Rangers imploded on themselves and I do. not. want. to. talk. about. it. Ever. 

Here's what I'm talking about, bunting.

Bunting in October, on just about every business in my little speck of a town, means only one thing.

It's time for the Yamboree. 

Yambo what? Yamboree, it's our county fair, it's named after the yam. I've posted about this little event. It's quite the to-do around here. People make all sorts of preparations for it, I usually don't, this year though is different. I have to make preparations because this little fella is coming!

My preparations don't involve fancy gowns, teas, luncheons, floats, or concession stands. My preparations are all about Rocket Man. I have to BABY PROOF MY HOME!! 

Oh, my goodness!  As I've been looking around the house at baby eye level, I've realized that this is not a child safe home. Sheesh! I have many, many things that need to be locked up, moved, hidden, or otherwise disposed of. The last time Rocket Man visited it was not much of a problem, he was mobile but hadn't begun the  I-must-put-everything-in-my-mouth-and-I'll-pull-everything-down phase in ernest. I wouldn't have it any other way. All you grandparents out there understand, you'd move heaven and earth for your grandchild, or try to anyway. 

I haven't seen Rocket Man in almost three months. Three loooonnnnggg months. I know, I know, it's not that long but when you consider that last year I saw him nearly every month, three months is a long time. Daughter is wonderful to FaceTime with us on an almost daily basis, I appreciate this immensely, and though FaceTime is great, it's not the same as having that little bundle of energy in my arms, no matter that he'll only stay in them for a nano second. 

When I was a kid, Star Trek was the show to watch. All the gadgets and tech-y stuff seemed beyond someone's imagination. In retrospect, Gene Rodenberry and his writers weren't too far off the mark. That being said, I'm ready for one of you tech-y types to hurry up and get that transporter going so I can talk into my iPhone and tell Daughter to 'beam me up' or to beam Rocket Man to me. I'm sure she'd also appreciate this technological marvel, especially on those days when my perfect grandson is being misunderstood. Okay, chop, chop, hop to it all you computer geniuses. I'll start getting the transporter room ready.

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