My mom once tied my leg to a table. I turned out fine.

by Blagica Bottigliero

I've been spending more time with the kids. Over the weekend, I was a solo parent as the hubby went down to Chicago for some work and play. I found myself incorporating some 'old school' methods of watching the kids, namely around my household chores. 

Which brings me back to a story my mom once told me.

My sister was out playing with the neighbors and their kids. Mom was watching me in our little ranch house in Warren, MI.  The laundry was running in the basement. Mom had to change out the load and I was highly engrossed in whatever toy I was playing. She thought for a second and weighed her options:

#1. She could pick me up out of my happy play place, whisk me downstairs to put the clothes in the dryer and see me go ape crazy for 45 minutes

#2. She could take a belt, loosely tie my leg to the table, run downstairs to change out the clothes and then come right back up

Mom opted for #2. She said that she was up and down in 4 minutes. I was still working on understanding the make up of the doll's fingers. She didn't think twice about it. 

Going back to my time with the kids this weekend. I was driving myself crazy with the heightened need to take my kids with me in every crevice of the house, especially the 17 month old. I had the gate locked upstairs and still brought the little one in the bathroom with me. Why? Because I had this vision that he may decide to climb his crib or somehow break a jigsaw piece and swallow it. 

Am I promoting the mothers and fathers and caregivers of America to leave children alone? 


I am saying that there were things our parents did back in the day that would be considered neglect or child abuse today. I've realized that my imagination sometimes extends out to real life. I have fears and 'watch outs' for the kids that could using some easing back. I know these fears are a combination of me + the world of helmets and knee guards.

I lived in skin knees, bruises and cuts. My daughter gets a little scrape and demands us to go to the closet and get her a Doc McStuffins Band-Aid. Everything is a major boo boo. A little hangnail or blood from an over scratched mosquito bite means she is very sick and needs to go to a doctor. Or, better yet, I receive the 'Mama, I should've put on a Cars helmet + knee pads like in that commercial.'