For the better part of two hours on Wednesday night, Charlie and I sat in the white car in the driveway, awaiting Jim's return from teaching The Dead (Joyce's text and the film adaptation) to his class on Christianity and art. We were quite comfortable (I mean in the car, I can't vouch for Jim in his classroom!) but then we spend so much time in the car (in motion, more commonly) sitting in a standing (albeit heated) vehicle was rather comforting.
Charlie talked for almost the entire time, calling out declarative phrases of predominately proper nouns and quite clearly echoing some things I said, most of it on a properly upbeat note as he was indeed doing good, a phrase he says with relish.
It took some work, and experiences, earlier this week to get to that point. Charlie has had what could be called post-grandparents visit anxiety. Tuesday, after banging a bathroom door, he was not 15 minutes on the bus to school when he called for my parents and banged his head. That night he brought down the two suitcases that he sees as marking my parents' visiting soon (they will next be back after two months).
We unilaterally decided to drive Charlie to school the rest of the week and he was able to take the bus home all right Wednesday. He and I spent the afternoon driving around New Jersey a bit too much (on the first scent of in-the-car panic, I gave Charlie his calming medicine -- he'd said 'I see GongGong PoPo') and walking a bit, and then sitting in the car. First Charlie asked ardently for food of all sorts, then as I pointed out we'd gotten him lots to eat (and he hasn't eaten it all), he stopped asking but wanted to stay in the car.
We went to get Jim at 10.15pm. Back home, Charlie peaceably put away the suitcases and went straight to bed.