My seven year old nephew decided to pop by my office and visit me. After the preliminary two second chit-chat about school, pets and life--he decided he was bored.

I supplied him with a stack of paper and a stapler and told him to have at it.

He sat behind me whacking away at the stapler.

*whack*

*whack*

*whack*

I was expecting it to occasionally be punctuated by a scream of bloody murder and perhaps a fountain of blood.

*whack*

*whack*

*whack*

I only stopped him because I was tired of the whacking, not because I was concerned for his digits. Why should I be concerned? After all, I purposely stapled myself in the palm of my hand when I was little and I survived.

I will also use this disclaimer when my children try to: jump off the roof, eat worms, swan dive onto the brick floor off of high chairs, have who-can-knock-the-most-bark-off-the-tree-my-swinging-into-it-on-the-rope-swing-contests-and-ensure-the-most-bodily-harm (person with the most injuries wins!), pull a tendon and refuse to see the doctor, be dumped from the buckets of tractors and generally do stupid things that most parents gasp at the mere mention of.

Oh, that's right. I'm not getting married and having children. That's right. No need to call child services yet. Though, you might want to go ahead, so they can put a restraining order on me getting pregnant. (Yes. I realize this means I would have to be pleasant enough to be in the same sleeping quarters as a male for 2.3 seconds.)

Considering that, I wouldn't worry.