A good day to you. Speaking of good days, I had a good day yesterday with my six-year-old granddaughter, Fiona. She’s my grandson Max’s younger sister. You remember Max…I’ve written about him here before, and he filled in by blogging for me once in my absence. You remember…he goes by the name “M-Fixie” instead of his given name. Anyhow, I always call Fiona my “miracle granddaughter” because, in the 17 years after Max was born, his parents always swore up and down that they would never have another child (Max was a bit of a handful, especially as a teenager—he would run with the wrong crowd, especially that secret girlfriend he would sneak off with to the art supply store…nothing harmful of course, just the usual teenage behavior).
Well, despite the claims of her parents, fate had different plans, and one day Fiona showed up. I couldn’t even tell her mother had been expecting, and she never told me, so it was a complete surprise. She didn’t show at all, and I have a hunch she didn’t know herself. Not showing must run on her side of the family (she’s my daughter-in-law). I keep telling her, I say, “Tammy, you should try out for that show about mothers who didn’t know they were expecting so you can tell your story.” But, without fail, she changes the subject. She’s always been a touch shy. And that’s why I call Fiona my “miracle granddaughter”.
Max dropped her off at my house yesterday afternoon. Max and Fiona have a very special bond, I think because the 17-year age difference cements them together. Max is now mature enough to have a sibling without any of that pesky “sibling rivalry” nonsense. In a way, Max is almost a second father figure to her. They look so much alike, and it does this old Codger good to know that when Max is finally old enough to have children of his own, he’ll do a great job raising them.
The first thing we did when Fiona got here was to go out for ice cream. Ordinarily, we would’ve driven, but because I’m training for my big half-marathon at the mall next week, we walked. The common-law Mrs. Codger came along, and Hannah Montana, my Welsh corgi, came along too. Fiona named her, you know. I liked the name because of its clever rhyme, and Fiona liked it because it’s the name of her favorite TV starlet (which I did not find out until later). After that, we had to get back to the house because Judge Judy was coming on. Later, we went to a duck pond, where we fed the swans, or, as Fiona calls them, the “honk honk ducks”. I’ll be darned if she didn’t inherit the Codger family sense of observational wit! I know she’s going to grow up to make us incredibly proud, just like her big brother.
Until next time!