Ramona, after seeing a stray dog run through our yard, expressed grave concern about him running across the highway. "Oh, Mommy," she cried, "I prayed for the Lord to protect him!"
Me: 'Why was this stuff dumped on the floor?"
Ramona: "Oh. That was me. I did that when I was crying. I can't remember now if I was crying because Betsy wouldn't play with me, or just because I'm seven." (Insert appropriately abject sigh here.)