Motherhood take two

I am a stay-at-home mom, and an epileptic. With the advent of my first pregnancy, after laying dormant for eight years, my seizures returned. Because of my physical limits, we chose to pursue old-school child rearing approaches, a.k.a how our parents raised us. My husband and I had a tacit agreement --- no baby swim classes or Mommy and Me music time. We created a child raising plan based on three simple ideas. We had limits, our children could learn without extras, and they could be happy with simpler things.

My anticonvulsants tired me and I stayed close to home most of the time. The neighbors sometimes spotted me pushing a stroller on our seventeen house cul-de-sac. A new carpet provided a safe place for my son to crawl and play and disassemble the CD player. However, we did attend a mother's group once a week, driven by someone who, unlike myself, held a driver's license. Otherwise, we largely stayed put. He played happily with our little, active kitten Buster. I spoke to him often and I sometimes played music. My son didn't suffer, but thrived instead.

He was still thriving when I delivered his little brother. My husband and I didn't change anything. Simple toys ruled, with the one big exception a musical cube that played Mozart. Play-Doh and bubble soap were staples at our house. Sidewalk chalk art regularly adorned our driveway, some of it letters, numbers, and shapes. Oh, and water soluble tempera paint. One time we cut out Christmas tree shapes for a cardboard tree of our own. We used the tempera paint to color it green, with red and yellow dots for ornaments, and hanging decorations made from beading supplies. The activity was completely spontaneous and really fun.

Books were a must. I can still recite their main bedtime story, beginning with " In the great, green room." Thank you, Margaret Wise Brown. In our house, Doctor Suess shared shelf space with Sandra Boynton. Language mattered and baby talk was anathema. My husband and I spoke normally, and we explained often. It appeared to work, if a two syllable first word ("Buster!") is any indication. When my brother-in-law from Alaska visited several years later, he was amazed when my younger son exclaimed "Look, a contrail!" Not only did my preschooler know the word, he could define it. It didn't seem remarkable to me, but I expected that he understood words of that sort.

There is a lot I don't remember, but some things stand out. Showing them an image of the Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh was one. That was a favorite painting of mine, and I wanted to share it with them. Perhaps a year later, when my kindergartener learned his art class for the year was about that painting, he remembered. "My mom showed me that on the computer," he announced, excited. His teacher, God bless her, said " Then you can be my Starry Night helper!"

Then there was my husband. One of his favorite pieces of music is Bach's Toccata in Fugue in D minor. By the time my younger son reacher six months old, it was his favorite, too. We let them handle more grown-up items. They assembled and disassembled real pipe fittings and hammered real nails into a tree stump. One night, we talked about grinding flour, so I gave them white rice and a rock to grind some flour themselves.

Having done this, I feel saddened by those parents who believe the extras are necessary. My children didn't lack anything important. They learned to ride bikes in the mid-afternoon, because I needed the shade. We sat on our street corner every Fourth of July to watch the fireworks being lit off at the nearby park. They knew about Santa, but never sat on his lap. Special events and activities can be fun and engaging, but they're not crucial. It's possible to create your fun without outside help. We had no pool membership, so a bucket of water and permission to throw a wet rag at your brother was more inventive and just as much fun. Your value as a parent lies in how you spend your time with your children. Simply be with and enjoy them. However you achieve the goal, that's the important bit.