Well, folks-here we are. The glorious days of summer. That magical time of year when the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and parents of autistic children are one Popsicle stick away from a complete emotional breakdown.
For those who don’t know me, I’m the mother of an almost 19-year-old boy with autism, significant intellectual disabilities, ADHD, anxiety, and an autoimmune disorder. (Yes, we collect diagnoses like other people collect fridge magnets.). I’m also a Provincial trainer in behaviour management with 14 years of experience in autism intervention. So basically, I’m overqualified to tell you with complete confidence that summer and autism go together like oil and water…or like glitter and carpet. Looks fun at first, but ruins everything.
Let’s talk heat.
You know who loves heat? Absolutely no one in my house. Except maybe our neighbour with the pool-who, coincidentally, is never home, leaving us to fantasize about cannonballing over their fence like pool pirates. For most people, summer heat is a minor inconvenience. For my son, it’s the equivalent of being wrapped in a straightjacket made of sandpaper and fire. He’s hot, sweaty, and confused about why everything suddenly smells like feet. The sun, the bugs, the sunscreen-it’s all personal.
Routine? Gone.
You know that comforting school-year structure with predictability and purpose? Well, that died a tragic, silent death sometime in late June. Now, every day is like a chaotic episode of Whose Line Is it Anyway?-where the schedule’s made up and the meltdowns are real. “Let’s go down to the lake” I say with delusional optimism, while my son interprets “lake” as “anxiety tsunami.” Transitions from one activity to the next are basically psychological warfare. And when I say “activity,” I mean anything that isn’t “watching the same YouTube clip on repeat for three hours in the same spot on the couch.”
Let’s take a moment for all the parents scrolling Pintrest at 2 a.m. looking for “easy summer sensory activities” and finding crafts that require 47 materials, a glue gun, and a PhD in polymer science. You are the real MVP’s. May your wine be chilled and your expectations realistic.
I swear, if summer break has to be mandatory, then so should 24/7 access to LCBO, a free pass to wear yoga pants to any and all social events and a national hotline called “Yes, It’s Totally Fine to Cry in Your Minivan.” Because let’s be honest: most of us are walking around looking like dehydrated raccoons with a vague scent of bug spray and despair.
It’s not that I don’t love my son. I do-fiercely, endlessly, with every exhausted cell in my body. But when you’re parenting someone who craves predictability like oxygen, and life turns into a popsicle-melting, schedule-free circus, it’s hard. It’s lonely. It’s loud. And it’s ok to say that out loud.
So, to the parents hiding in laundry rooms, bathrooms, or behind large sunglasses pretending to enjoy “family beach day” – I see you. You are doing incredible work. Even if your kid just screamed through a picnic, refused every activity you planned, and demanded to go home exactly 12 minutes into your family outing-you showed up. That counts. That always counts.
Hang in there. Seven more weeks to go. Then the school-year routine returns, and we can all breath a collective sigh of relief while crying into our back-to-school supply lists. Until then, may your snacks be accepted, your routines be respected (ha!), and may the odds of a successful transition be ever in your favour.
With love, exhaustion, and a dash of sunburn
A Mom Who Has Had it, But Also Has Tequila.
