If you’ve found your way here through a school newsletter or recommendation, welcome.

I’m Sarah, and this is 50 Days of River.

I started this blog last summer because I felt completely alone and incredibly anxious about how I was going to get through 50 days of the summer holidays with my autistic son and very little support. We were in the middle of what felt like an impossible stage of parenting. River had very little spoken language, every outing felt unpredictable, and I spent far too much time worrying about what other people thought. Writing became a way of making sense of it all and, unexpectedly, it helped me find other parents who understood exactly what life was like.

A year later, so much has changed.

Goodbye, Nursery

This week, River finished nursery after two wonderful years.

When he first started, he had very few words and a lot of what people labelled as “challenging behaviour”. Looking back now, I realise so much of that behaviour came from one simple thing: he couldn’t tell us what he needed. Imagine spending your whole day unable to explain that you’re frightened, overwhelmed, uncomfortable, or simply that you want a drink. Behaviour was his communication.

The little boy who walked through those nursery doors two years ago is so different from the little boy who walked out for the last time this week.

Now he confidently finds his own name tag, hangs up his bag and happily disappears into his area with a cheerful, “Bye bye Daddy.” He has words now. Not enough for everything he wants to say, but enough that the world makes a little more sense to him, and he makes a little more sense to the world.

Perhaps my favourite thing is that he almost always comes home smelling of three or four different perfumes. It took me a while to realise why. It means he’s spent the day being cuddled by different members of staff. It’s the smell of people who have comforted him, celebrated him, reassured him and loved him exactly as he is.

There are far fewer confrontations now, not because River has become a different child, but because he has spent two years in an environment where he has felt safe, understood and genuinely nurtured.

We will always be grateful to every single member of staff who helped him get here.

River, of course, has absolutely no idea that he isn’t going back after the summer. For him, the holidays are just another adventure. For me, collecting him for the last time was far more emotional than I expected.

Thankfully, this isn’t quite the end of that chapter. He won’t be going far and, after the summer, he’ll begin an exciting new adventure in his Specialist Resource Provision. I’m sure I’ll have plenty more to say about that another time.

Progress Doesn’t Mean Easy

If you’ve just found this blog because you’re hoping someone will tell you it all gets easy, I can’t honestly say that.

Today was Summer’s birthday, and it was a perfect reminder that progress and struggle often exist side by side.

We missed River’s swimming lesson this morning because he had a meltdown and, if I’m honest, I just couldn’t face the showdown on what was supposed to be her day.

Instead, she went to jiu-jitsu with her dad, enjoyed a Costa treat and then chose where she wanted to go for lunch. Wagamama won.

By then, River had settled. Once he knew swimming had been and gone, he happily walked into town with plenty of loud, joyful stimming that attracted more than a few stares.

When we arrived at the restaurant, River immediately announced that it was “too noisy”. The irony is never lost on me that he’s usually the loudest person in the room and the one complaining about the noise.

I smiled apologetically at the waiter and followed him to our table anyway.

It made me realise we haven’t been to a restaurant for a long time. We’re much more of a pub family, and usually the same predictable ones where we know the staff, the menu, where to sit and, most importantly, the quickest exit if we need it.

It wasn’t long before his hands were over his ears and his shouting became louder. When we sat down to eat, he managed about five minutes before demanding my phone. I stretched it to seven by distracting him with chopsticks and the menu, but eventually the shouting started.

Today was supposed to be about Summer, so I chose my battles. The phone was handed over, River settled, and we all managed to enjoy lunch together.

The thing is, she barely noticed. She tucked into her lunch, chatted away and is having a brilliant birthday.

She’s growing up now. River is her little brother, she knows exactly what he’s like, and she loves him. She’s learnt that some days don’t quite go to plan, and she takes it all in her stride.

She’s not my baby girl anymore, but she’ll always be my little sidekick.

Back to the Library

After lunch, Summer went off with Kike to choose some birthday presents. The shops were busy so we needed to split up and, deep down, I think he was secretly thrilled at the prospect of spending an hour in Flying Tiger.

Meanwhile, River asked if we could go to the library.

I realised I hadn’t taken him for a long time.

When he was a toddler, I used to borrow books for him every week, but he couldn’t cope with them. Tabs that didn’t open properly frustrated him, pages would suddenly be torn out, and sometimes the front cover would disappear altogether. He didn’t have the words to explain why those things bothered him, only that they did. I was averaging about £30 a month in replacement charges before I finally admitted defeat and decided we needed a break.

I’ve always read to him, but over the past year we’ve discovered the books he loves, and now, thanks to his hyperlexia, he often reads to me.

We didn’t actually borrow any books today. River likes the library because he thinks it’s a maze.

Round and round we went.

My repeated requests to whisper were met with complete determination to do the exact opposite. He eventually found two Halloween books, one of which he proudly read at full volume several times.

“Lena turned into a Zombie. Patrick turned into a Werewolf.”

To anyone who was genuinely trying to work in the library today, I’m very sorry. I suspect that wasn’t quite the peaceful working environment you had planned.

By the fifth read aloud, I gently suggested we take the book home instead.

“No! Bye Bye Library!”

and we left.

The Biggest Change

A year ago, those moments would have left me feeling embarrassed. I would have apologised to everyone around us, hurried us out as quickly as possible and replayed every second in my head afterwards, convinced people thought I was a terrible parent.

Now, I still notice the stares. I still come home exhausted. I still wish a simple trip to the library wasn’t quite so complicated.

But something has shifted.

I’m no longer trying to make River appear less autistic so that other people feel comfortable. He’s allowed to flap, spin, jump and make his little happy noises. He’s allowed to experience joy in the way that feels natural to him. The world asks autistic children to fit in every single day. Home, and the people who love him, shouldn’t.

The biggest change over the last year hasn’t just been River’s progress; it’s been mine.

I’ve stopped measuring success by how ‘normal’ a day looked and started celebrating what actually matters. Did we get out? Did River enjoy himself? Did we recover after things went wrong? Did we get through the day?

If the answer is yes to just one of those questions, then I call that a good day.

Here’s to Another Summer

So, as the summer holidays begin again, I thought it was the perfect time to welcome new readers and start another season of sharing our lives.

There will be brilliant days, difficult days, days that surprise us and days that leave me completely exhausted. But there will also be moments that remind me just how far we’ve come.

If this blog helps one parent feel a little less alone, or helps one person understand autistic children and their families a little better, then every post is worth writing.

Whether you’ve been reading since day one or you’ve only just arrived, I’m really glad you’re here.

Welcome to 50 Days of River.