Day 42: Umbrella Hunts and Train Tracks

Mornings on Repeat

Honestly, it’s getting silly now. My alarm went off at 7am. I got up, showered and went to check on River. Asleep. He stirred only when I stood there watching him, mumbled “Hello Mummy” and shuffled to the toilet rubbing his eyes. That was the extent of our morning together, just enough time for him to shout at me that he didn’t want breakfast. No, he wanted dinner. Rice. He already has rice for two meals a day but apparently that’s not enough. Rice for breakfast is where I draw the line.

So, bag on. “Bye Bye Mummy.” And off I went to work. Not skipping like yesterday but still glad to be there. The children were back today, filling the classrooms with energy and it was good to feel that buzz again.

Kate’s Adventure

When I got home at 4pm, Kate filled me in. She had bravely decided to take them out in the morning, knowing the rain was coming later.

“Shall we go to the playground?” she asked River.
“NO PLAYGROUND!” came the instant reply.

But Kate wasn’t deterred. “Ok, no playground. Umbrella hunt.”

He wasn’t sold but crucially, he didn’t protest either. Off they went. Of course, when they reached the playground, he stuck to his guns: “NO PLAYGROUND!” He stayed in the pushchair while Kate got Summer to hide the umbrella so they could keep up the charade. They salvaged the outing with doughnuts from the shop, so it wasn’t a total loss.

Back home, after a smooth lunch, Kate bravely turned off the TV and put away the iPads.

She began with the fail-safe Halloween drawings. River tells you what to draw and you draw it: Witch, Zombie, Ghost. Lots of language practise and you can’t fault his dedication to his passion.

But to my surprise, she managed to get River to play with some of his toys. There were tears, meltdowns and plenty of hugging but he did it.

The Pull of Screens vs. The Value of Play

It’s always tempting to give River exactly what he wants. Screens regulate him, they give him language, they make him happy. They aren’t the enemy. But at the same time, he needs opportunities to explore new things, to feel frustration and to see that play can be joyful – not just overwhelming.

Lessons From the Train Set

The train set is the perfect example. He loves it. But he hates waiting for the track to be built. He wants to build it himself, yet he wants it to look exactly like the picture on the box. He wants the bridge to stand tall, but won’t accept my help.

Cue the cycle: begin, frustration, shouting, crying, hugs, repeat.

For a long time, I used to skip the battle. I’d build the track myself so he could simply press the button and enjoy watching the train go round and round. It made life easier for both of us. But easy doesn’t always mean better.

That said, this isn’t about teaching River patience in the same way it might be for Summer. Autistic children don’t always get the same sense of accomplishment from persevering through frustration. For River, it’s not “the joy of the journey” or “the pride in overcoming” it’s about the track working and working now. He doesn’t want the process stretched out and he’d often rather the problem was fixed quickly, with as little fuss as possible and ideally without anyone else interfering.

So while we’re introducing him to the idea of putting a few pieces together, or asking for help, it’s not going to look like it did with Summer. He’s not going to suddenly embrace the struggle or beam with pride that he persevered. The win here is smaller: that he tries again, or tolerates me putting on one piece, or that the cycle of frustration is shorter than before. That’s progress for him and it’s no less important.

Kate’s Perspective

Kate was proud that she’d managed a relatively screen-free day. She admitted the afternoon dragged, and I understood. That’s exactly how it feels. You set up something fun, it lasts 10 minutes and it feels like you’ve run a marathon just to get there. But those short bursts matter. They give River chances to practise regulating himself, to see that other people joining in can actually be fun and to stretch his tolerance a little further each time.

Looking Ahead to Nursery

Tomorrow, we’re off to River’s “Stay and Play” transition morning at Nursery. At bedtime I tried to prepare him:

“Tomorrow, mummy take you to nursery and play.”
“NO NURSERY!” Great start.
“Nursery with toys and mummy.”
“NO NURSERY, NO TOYS.”
“We can see your teachers.” He loves his teachers.
“I DON’T LIKE NURSERY. I DON’T LIKE TEACHERS. I WANT HOME.”
“OK, Nursery with mummy, then home.”

Silence. Then, “Music, bottle juice.” His signal that I should leave so he could sleep.

So yes, I’m realistic about what’s coming. It’s been 42 days since he last set foot in Nursery. Of course it will be a shock. He will probably cling to me. He may cry. We might spend the whole morning tucked away in his little safe corner with one of his toys. And if it all gets too much, we can leave and come home.

But the thing is, just like with the train set, progress for River won’t look like progress for other children. He won’t find joy in “pushing through” or feel pride at “overcoming” in the way his sister might. That’s not how he’s wired. For him, success might simply be tolerating a moment that feels uncomfortable, or letting me help him for a second, or trying again after getting upset.

And if tomorrow, he steps foot into Nursery at all, even if it’s just for a few minutes, that will be enough. That will be his version of progress.

And Kate can have a screen filled afternoon.