Where Does River Fit?

Sunday evening

It’s Sunday evening and I’m sitting here watching Wicked in preparation for the new one coming out in a couple of weeks. Summer (and I) are very excited and we’ve spent part of the weekend decorating our house on Roblox in our given characters of Glinda and Elphaba.

River, after fifteen minutes of fierce protest, is finally in the bath. Kike is on bath duty and standing with his back to the bath because River screams every time he turns around, fun times.

Back to Routine (and Squats)

I went back to work and things have settled back down into our term-time rhythm of after-school clubs and extra sports. On Friday, I was the music teacher for the day, teaching a fun little Irish Jig type number that required multiple squats and jogging. When I did it with the violins, I was quite enjoying myself. After six classes in a row, though, I started worrying that this way going to have consequences. Let’s just say I have massively overestimated my general fitness, sitting and walking have both been a challenge this weekend.

Still, Friday was fun. Suzy joined us for our usual Friday pub pizza dinner, then came back to sit in the bedtime chaos. River was very taken with her, which was so lovely. He sat for cuddles while we all sang along to “I’ve Lost My Bobble Hat” from his favourite podcast. Both kids went to bed easily and catching up with Suzy was the perfect end to the week.

Diwali Night Lights

Saturday was chore day, endless washing, cleaning, I even tidied the garden before our evening plans: Diwali night at the kids’ school. Every year they put on a brilliant fireworks display for the festival of light.

Being the good parent that I am, I volunteered to run one of the stalls with a friend. We sold glowing plastic gadgets while Kike took River off into the dark playground to explore.

An hour later we all came back together (except Summer, who was living her best life with her friends) to watch the display. I wasn’t worried, River had loved it last year. I put on his ear defenders just in case.

The music began, Katy Perry made her annual income and the fireworks burst into life. River jumped and smiled at every bang. Kike watched him and said quietly, “He’s like a little boy.” And he was right, River is looking more and more like a little boy now, not a toddler.

Afterwards, I was relieved of my selling duties, grabbed a very reasonably priced prosecco and took my turn walking the playground with River. He followed the painted tracks on the ground, carefully stepping on each footprint and zigzag lines until he reached the pirate ship, his favourite.

He played for nearly an hour while Kike and I enjoyed the parent DJ’s amazing tunes. When River said, “I want home,” Kike offered to take him. Ten minutes later they reappeared, apparently, he’d changed his mind. I was pleased they’d come back, we stayed till nearly 8pm; the weather was mild, the music was good and it felt like the closest thing we get to a Saturday night out these days.

A Conversation That Stuck

A mum friend introduced me to another parent who wanted to talk about schools. She was South American and was happy to meet Kike, she kindly spoke slowly in Spanish so I could keep up.

Her twin boys are very energetic, and she’s been getting criticised by other mums. She became emotional talking about how tired she was and how she’d tried everything. She wondered if sending the boys to different schools might help.

I became defensive on her behalf (second prosecco). “Better for who?” I asked. “For the mums who shouldn’t be judging you? They don’t know what you’re dealing with. If anyone has a problem, they should talk to the school, not to you.”

She smiled when I asked whether she suspected ADHD. “They have so much energy,” she said. “They just want to run, jump, wrestle.”

I told her about speaking to the SENDCo, and Kike shared how he manages his ADHD. She seemed calmer by the end. We exchanged numbers and I promised to send over things that have helped us; weighted toys, spinning chairs, trampolines, all the fun stuff.

As we left, I felt lighter. It was nice to talk to a mum who was open, honest and just wanted to be heard. No judgement, no pretending, just truth. I felt happy that I could listen, offer some hope and give her something practical to try.

We walked home glowing (literally, full of flashing toys). Everyone went to bed calmly. It was a good evening.

Stay and Play Sunday

This morning Kike took Summer to swimming, where she’s now jumping off the diving board. River and I went to a stay-and-play at a local charity-run centre for children with additional needs.

It’s such a lovely place, friendly staff, big open space. The first room was full of instruments; River circled a few times and hit a drum or two. The next had toys and he became very attached to a Peppa Pig house. It’s so useful to see what he actually chooses when he has options, traditional toys rarely grab him.

His favourite was as always some little balls that he could move around a planet maze. Kept him happy for ages – once he’d got over his initial anger that he couldn’t take the balls out.

Outside, he heard music. A teenage volunteer was playing pop songs instead of nursery rhymes, which was a refreshing change. River ran around, jumped on logs and skipped to the beat.

Inside again, he found the holy grail: the sensory room. Not just any sensory room, this one had programmable light machines. He was in heaven, pressing buttons, reading every word on the screen.
A mum asked, “He can read?”
“Yes,” I smiled. “That’s one of his things.”

We ended up staying for nearly three hours. He ate his packed lunch to Beyoncé outside on a bench. He didn’t really interact with anyone but neither did most of the other children and that was fine. It was peaceful. I didn’t chat much with other parents this time, but it was our first visit. We’ll definitely be back.

The Big Question

After lunch at home and a surprise visit from Tenika, I hit a wall. I decided to listen to my body and take a nap. It helped, enough to power through the usual Sunday whirlwind of washing, uniforms, bath and bedtime routines.

Now River’s in bed, Summer’s in the bath and I’m back on the sofa with Kike choosing a film. And one thought keeps circling in my head:
Where does River fit?

At the fireworks, a friend kindly told me there was a safe space indoors if River found it too noisy. I reassured her he loved fireworks, he doesn’t like the hairdryer, or random small noises but he adores fireworks.

At stay-and-play, some children clearly had more profound needs than River, less verbal, less responsive. When we left, we ran into one of my students. He said hello to River and asked him about his Halloween. River stared ahead, silent. I prompted: “River had fun at Halloween.” He smiled, “I love Halloween,” and we moved on.

And that’s where my question lives, in those moments in between. Too “high functioning” for specialist groups, but “too high needs” for mainstream school.

The debate about splitting the diagnosis is growing between “profound autism” and the broader spectrum. I understand both sides. Parents of profoundly autistic children feel it’s unfair to compare their child’s life to autistic adults with degrees and careers. Others fear that dividing the label will only deepen stigma, exclusion and lower expectations.

As always, I don’t have the answer. I just know that we’re somewhere in the middle. And that middle ground can feel lonely sometimes.

So I’ll keep doing what I always do, learning, looking, reaching out. More events, more parents to talk to, more moments of connection. Because somewhere in all this, we’ll find our way.