Looking Back on easter

It’s the end of the Easter holidays and time to look back at what these two weeks have really been like.

At the beginning, I said I wasn’t feeling as anxious and that stayed true. But one thing hasn’t changed at all, the exhaustion. Even cutting back on fixed activities and trying not to fill every day, I still crashed and have spent the last two days mostly in bed. Just in time to go back to work feeling anything but refreshed and wondering how I’ll make it through the week.

Spaces That Work

We visited our friend Kiran twice and both times were a huge hit for River (and Summer). They happily played with her EYFS resources, with River particularly enjoying ‘feeding’ the owls, dropping glass beads into bottles with Owl Babies pictures on them. It kept him occupied far longer than I expected.

On the second visit, he kicked off his shoes, shouted hello and then announced, “I’m just going to my bedroom,” before heading straight upstairs. He’s clearly made himself at home.

On the way there, Summer became a bit embarrassed as River is currently reading everything: every sign, every shop, every street name.

We passed a homeless man sitting outside the station and before I could stop him he shouted:
“HELP ME! I’M HUNGRY! GOD BLESS YOU!”

It was loud. Loud enough that people turned.

Summer immediately bent down and hissed “River, be quiet.”

He looked at her, nodded, then whispered,
“God bless you.”

She rolled her eyes and we found some change.

When It really Doesn’t Work

Easter itself meant a long journey to Kate’s. I already knew the underground wasn’t his favourite but we didn’t have many options.

Four stops in and he’d had enough. Screaming, demanding to get off. We had forty minutes left and even then, only ten minutes’ break before changing to a louder train.

It was awful watching him so distressed and not knowing what to do. Even turning back wouldn’t have helped, we were already stuck on the train.

He cried so much he eventually passed out, which brought relief to the whole carriage. Then, of course, there was a fault on the line and we were stuck there even longer.

I messaged Kate to explain what was going on, she replied.

“Why does it always have to be so hard?”

Eventually we arrived and it was a lovely afternoon, full of jumping on beds and an Easter hunt she had prepared.

We made a different plan for the journey home: Uber, overground and bus and that definitely went better.

Progress Isn’t Always Straightforward

There was our return to the local theatre for the Easter version of Dantastic. Summer has declared she’s now too old for it, so she went off to her only day camp of the holiday, leaving River and I to go with faithful theatre companion Sadie.

He was so excited. We chose our usual seats, back corner, near the exit, not too overwhelming and settled in.

Dantastic came out and River could not have been more ecstatic. He began by asking the audience if anyone knew his name and there was absolutely no hesitation.

“IT’S DANTASTIC!!!”

Honestly, I think it’s the loudest I’ve ever heard him. The whole theatre laughed.

Dantastic smiled and said, “You’re close.”

Sadie and I looked at each other, slightly confused. It is his name?

It quickly became clear that in order for the next couple of jokes to work, calling him smelly socks and all the usual bits. That only works if the children don’t shout his name straight away.

River, of course, did not understand this at all.

He kept shouting, “Me! Me! Me!” trying to answer again until eventually Dantastic pointed back to him and said, “You were right!”

And that was enough. He was happy. He could move on.

The show itself was repetitive and very familiar to the previous ones but that’s the beauty of children’s theatre. And actually, I think it really helped him.

He was in his element. Joining in (a lot louder than everyone else), laughing, watching closely. And this time, I let him go down to the front to dance. Apart from losing his shoe a few times, he loved it and came back to his seat each time the song ended.

But the ending didn’t go the way he expected.

River had been following the story properly. He understood that to help the Easter Bunny, tasks had to be completed. He watched, he joined in, he waited.

The final task was to collect the eggs and put them in the basket.

Simple. Clear. Logical.

Dantastic asked for help and off he went.

But the eggs weren’t being collected. They were being thrown.

Big inflatable eggs, thrown up into the air in that chaotic, fun way that works for most children.

But that wasn’t the task he had understood.

He went up to Dantastic, hands out, ready to help.

The egg was thrown.

He tried again.

Thrown again.

He moved around, trying to collect one himself but was stopped.

He held out his hands a third time and again, thrown.

Sadie and I just watched, completely helpless, as his understanding of the situation unravelled in front of us.

And then it hit him.

He stood there, head down, and started to sob. Loudly. Right in the middle of the stage, surrounded by children laughing and throwing eggs.

As I started to make my way forward, another member of the cast noticed him and handed him an egg.

He stopped. Wiped his eyes. Whispered “thank you.”

Then he walked over to the basket and placed it inside.

Carefully. Properly.

Exactly how the task had been set.

Then he turned and walked back to me, climbed into his seat and sat there, calm and content.

The task was done.

And with that, the show ended.

He’s come such a long way since his first theatre visit.

But next time, Dan… just let him help you.

The bits in between

Somewhere in between all of this, I had a night out at Magic Mike, which was actually brilliant, met friends, sat in the sunshine and, in one burst of unexpected energy, started painting the dining room yellow.

It’s still not finished.

We’ve been to a few parks, walked to the shop countless times and watched a lot of very strange TV.

The Reality of “Simple” Days

And yet, despite doing less, I am just as exhausted.

Because even the simple things are not simple.

A sit down in the park with a juice can turn into twenty minutes of screaming because a drop of liquid lands on his trousers and now they can’t possibly be worn.

A visit to a friend can unravel because I’m not quick enough with the WiFi and he hasn’t settled into his surroundings yet.

A walk to the shop can become a stand-off where he refuses to move, or won’t let me put him down because… well, who knows? The wind?

There’s always a reason. I know that. Sometimes I just can’t find it and, to be honest, it’s not always important.

I deal with the reaction. I stop. I breathe. I hug and soothe and I wait.

But it’s a lot.

The Bit No One Sees

By the end of the day, I crave isolation. No one calling my name. No one needing something. No one touching me or sitting on me with their face pressed to mine.

Then there’s the guilt.

Am I spending enough time with Summer? So I stay up later than I want, watching something together, brushing her hair, trying to give her what she needs.

And then there’s Kike.

I have nothing left. I don’t want to stay up any later knowing that at 6.30am it will start again.

So we don’t see each other. Not properly. Not during these times.

The Crash

By the end of the week, I feel my body shutting down. Heavy eyes. Aching everywhere.

A friend comes over (with her son who is friends with Summer) because I say I don’t think I can leave the house. She texts: don’t get food, we’ll order in.

We both sit on the sofas with River, leaving the other two, literally, to their own devices. We happily chat whilst watching his choice of YouTube (there’s some very strange stuff out there).

I find myself closing my eyes more and more.

When Kike gets home, she leaves and messages me: Get some rest.

So off to bed I went.

Moving Forward

I made it through another school holiday. Just.

Moving forward, I need to keep thinking about pacing. About planning more things Kike can take on, especially without me.

Or maybe I’ll just keep hoping that one day we’ll be rich enough to live in all-inclusive resorts for every school holiday.