So I come downstairs to check e-mail after dinner only to hear, not five minutes after the post-meal lull, the quick rumble of little feet on the wood floors above my head—followed by the screams: "Look, Mama! I found God! I found the God that made me! I found him! I found him! I found him in my room!"
It's good to know that if I ever need HIM, he's probably buried beneath a pile of stuffed animals and plastic dolls and stray Lego pieces next to the fish tank.