The Ghost Report

Yesterday, Lucia was kicking a beachball around the living room while I nursed Greta on the couch. She was in a testy mood, and she kept kicking the ball dangerously close to me. Trying to deflect a confrontation, I suggested she kick the ball into the kitchen. “No,” she said. “Ghost.” She said it matter-of-factly. “There’s a ghost in the kitchen?” I said. “Yes,” she said. Further questioning revealed that the ghost is (still) a baby, and it was standing by the stove, cooking soup.