A Safe Space

We tried a new Mexican restaurant Saturday night. Charlie was initially game to try the rice and beans and licked up some guacamole, then put his hands over his ears (classic rock soundtrack playing) and moaned. I finished up my burrito and took him back to the black car, which is so much a comforting space. He was hunched over, but calmed.

Charlie loves to be in motion (hence, his love of the ocean’s waves) and so we’re often at home in the road, in the car. Maybe we’re not exactly living out of a motor home, but sometimes the black car (often with Charlie’s backpack and my overstuffed bag) feels the equivalent. Small wonder, then, that getting home (with the beach house a surrogate for our actual home; we’ve one more week here) feels like we’ve won some race and crossed the finish line to home sweet safe.

Phrew.