Finding Belonging and Asking Bigger Questions
So, I’m back!
I’ve had so many lovely messages from people saying they loved the blog and feel a little lost without it and honestly, I think I am too. I can’t commit to every day but I’m sure I can manage a couple a week: condensing the good, the bad and the emotional ugly crying.
I decided to re-launch with telling you all about our Family Fun Day over the weekend.
The Sad Times of Stay and Play
I used to take River to the local stay and plays we’re all told to do. Good to get out, meet other mums, great for the children.
Now, I’m a teacher who loves Early Years Education but even with Summer I never really enjoyed them. They felt forced and I could always think of so many other things I’d rather be doing.
But I tried with River. I wasn’t working full-time and he needed the socialisation. This was before we ‘knew’ about Autism but we knew he was a bit different.
Those sessions were some of the saddest times I’ve ever had with him. I would book one, load up the pushchair full of essentials, head off feeling positive: maybe this time would be different, maybe I’d meet someone nice, maybe I’d make a new mum friend. But every time it was the same.
He didn’t play with the toys in the ‘right’ way. He snatched toys before I could get to him. He wasn’t speaking, so when they told him to say sorry, he couldn’t. He got frustrated, started hitting and then we had to leave. He screamed and cried and I carried the weight of all those stares as we walked out.
One of the last ones I tried was a singing one, I thought it might be better, it was sign and sing after all. Surely they’d understand children who learn differently? River loves music, always has. The lady started singing and he lit up: a big grin, skipping around the edge of the room, completely in his element.
But then: “He has to join the circle.”
I gave her an exhausted look. “He really likes skipping.” She sighed. The other mums shuffled in closer, closing the gap, removing our space.
Next came the bee song. River loved the bee song. They handed out little bees, he happily took one, kept skipping, humming along. Then: “We can’t start the next song till everyone has given back their bee.”
I tried to explain: “He’ll give it back, I promise. When the next song starts, he’ll want to move on.” But they didn’t want to hear it. I tried to get the bee. River screamed, hit me, completely overwhelmed. Every eye in the room was on us.
I wrestled a tiny bee from my sobbing child, handed it back and watched him shut down. He climbed into his pushchair, pointed at the door. His way of saying I’m done. I tearfully collected our shoes and rushed out so the others wouldn’t see me cry although I needn’t have worried they had already carried on singing with their ‘perfect’ children who could sit in a circle.
In the car park, I rang Kike. “How did it go this time?” Loud sobs. “It’s OK babe, it probably sucked anyway. Take him home.”
River looked at me, red-faced and tear-streaked, reached out, put his face next to mine and smiled. Daddy’s right, they did suck. And that was finally the end of stay and plays.
A Different Kind of Welcome
So when we first went to a stay and play with our local support group, you can see why it was an emotional one but this time the tears were different. Happy ones.
River behaved exactly as he always did but there was no judgement. No one told him to stop, sit down or join in. They even told me to sit down and have a drink while they watched him. The kindness and acceptance was overwhelming. They even did singing – he was allowed to hide at the back, run to the front to collect a toy and keep it as long as he liked.
Since then, this group has opened doors for us: trips to the farm, swimming sessions, family fun days. Every time it’s the same: big smiles, “Hi River!”, people who already understand. There’s a calmness in those rooms that I can’t put into words. I never feel anxious there. River can just be River.
The Family Fun Day
We were all up very early for a number of reasons I won’t go into right now and after Summer’s jiu-jitsu we got the bus and arrived early at our destination.
Kids’ parties in community centres always look a bit rubbish at the start, especially if you’re the first ones there. Empty hall, tables of squash and crisps, a few balloons clinging to the ceiling. But what’s always the same with this group is the warm welcome. Even though we haven’t been back much since River started Nursery, it’s the same: “Hi River!” Big smiles, calm atmosphere, no tension.
The party itself was lovely, nothing grand, just simple fun. Summer had her nails painted, tattoos applied, made biscuits and of course completed a craft project. River found a hill to roll down, kicked a football with Kike – after he stopped using it like a basketball. There was obviously a sensory room (though I think I might still have some trauma from Ibiza after spending too much time in one).
But he really came alive when the entertainer started. He danced, skipped, ran in and out of the room screaming “I don’t like it!” while laughing at the same time. He played ‘floor is lava’, chased bubbles, sat smack in the middle of the parachute. And everyone loved him.
We even managed to stay the full two hours. The last twenty minutes were spent with River in his pushchair, sweaty, exhausted and very clear about wanting to go home. Summer wasn’t finished yet, so he sat with his squash and gummies, facing the door, waiting patiently. Both kids left with little torches as presents and we all headed home happy which, for us, is basically the definition of a successful party.
The Bigger Question
There was a moment, watching River squeal with laughter on the dance floor, when I stepped back. There were other “Rivers”; some spinning quietly, some louder. A girl dancing in her wheelchair. Another with walking aids. All different, all having fun. And for once, so were the parents. Again all different, some smiling and chatting, some just enjoying the sit down – not hovering, not ready to apologise or leave.
It was magical. But I couldn’t help thinking: Is this the only way we get to enjoy these things? Do our children always have to be separated out?
Summer is growing up in this, with acceptance and love, seeing difference as normal. She will carry that into the world. But what about other children? If we separate ours away, where does the wider understanding and acceptance come from?
The adults who sigh, roll their eyes, ask my child to leave maybe it’s because they’ve never had the exposure. They don’t know how to adapt. They’ve never been asked to.
I don’t know the answer. For us, sometimes we need the sanctuary of a space where people understand, where the activities are adapted and no one blinks. But I also think the wider world can do more. Not just SEN days. Not just special sessions. Inclusion has to mean everywhere, all the time.
One thing gives me hope: children rarely see difference. On that dancefloor, every child was just having fun. I hope River and Summer grow up in a world where more people do the same.
50 days of River 
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