Baby Proofing the Office

The conversation went something like this: "I'll have to start baby proofing the house," announced my bride of 27 years.

"Yeah, but what are you going to do about dad's office?" asked my daughter, a mom of 3 days.

I've been in my present home office for 15 or 16 years. It is much better than the bend in the hallway on way to the old laundry room. I basically pile and file things, and there is an eclectic mishmash of things reflecting hobbies, my business and the lives of my research assistants (2 cats deceased,and 2 dogs--one still with us). So there are doggie bones and toys scattered about as well.

My bride assured me it would be 7 or 8 months before Jada started to crawl. As I surveyed my realm (the only part of the sprawling estate that is truly mine), I realized I should have started cleaning up once I learned of the pregnancy (I'd lost close to 9 months).

There are computer cables and power strips (I haven't figured out what I'm going to do about those).

There there is my coin work bench. I need to get the backlog catalogued and put away by Christmas.

Right.

There are the boxes of ammo and magazines for various rifles and pistols tucked in a corner and on top of a shelf (most of the guns are locked in the safe). But I sure can't leave the ammo anywhere near Jada's reach. Well, I figure I'll plan several trips to the range to alleviate that problem.

Consummables you know.

So I started on the far desk--the one that followed me from my days outside the laundry room.

I start plowing through a slight backlog of first day covers (2 or 3 years worth). I'm making fine progress and the hound (my current research assistant) is nosing around all the goodies that I am unearthing.

I open up a cabinet door and find a box. Stamped prominently on the side is warning label marked: EXPLOSIVES.

Some forgotten treaure! Alas no, merely several years worth of old stock statements.

Gee, I hope the shredder holds out.