We drove down to the beach where we used to stay at the beach house on Saturday morning and drove on sandy streets and sand hills (they really gave the right name to that hurricane) and Charlie said 'no bike.'
You cannot stop an object already flung in mid-trajectile and we drove back home and Charlie called for a local bike ride, which he and Jim are on now.
Last night, Charlie said 'no yellow jacket' and 'blue coat' and wore that blue vest on a cold ride, with lights.
About midway through some car rides (the longer ones especially), Charlie has been debuckling himself from the center seat he has occupied since he was 2 days old and we brought him home from Missouri Baptist Medical Center and sat behind me, saying 'push' so I pulled up the seat and he had the legroom he needs. (I have been the same height since I was about 13 and prefer having my seat pulled up.)
'Taco' he said last night in the midst of not a litany but more like a suite of verbalizations of the things he likes to eat and the places they are and various grandparent references (both sides of the family, with Jim's parents recalled mostly through their now-changed-ownership house). 'Cindy' he bellowed in the car this morning on the Parkway, the name of a verbal behavior therapist at a center I used to take him to when he about 8. It was Disney on the way down the Parkway with a dash of Wiggles 'at Wiggle Bay' as we approached the ocean and then Abbey Road, touched off with Sugarcane Harris, on the way home.
These new spins on routines so rigorously followed by us all were not surprising given that the week was spattered with change and my return to teaching the smallest part of it.
'Hi 'has often been a word Charlie wields when he is agitated (it is no 'polite meaningless' word); this week, his repeated utterances of it, along with vividness of face, were him in the full-pitched ardor of his age. I kept doing the laundry and Jim and I have both been doing a lot of reading.