So,

India just woke up. She's sick with a cold and an ear infection. I'm expecting another long night and maybe I'll just take her into bed with me, but when I went in to give her some medicine she was complaining of a sore arm and waving her hand around.

India: I just had a crazy ping pong dream. I was hitting and hitting, and my hand got so tired.

Me: [laughing at this weirdness] Well, at least it was a good dream.

India: No, I was facing the devil.

Me: Huh. The devil?

India: My hand got so tired I had to switch. [Waving both of her little hands in the air and smacking at imaginary ping pong balls]

Me: How did you know it was the devil?

India: He had a scary laugh.

Me: So, who won?

India: [Lifting hands and flabbergasted] I don't know. [pause] I think the scary laugh was winning.

I used to feel sorry for the devil when I was a kid. I always thought he just needed a good hug from God and another chance to get it together, but seriously, ping pong? Is nothing sacred? There's no going back from that.