It is naptime, and as I pull back the covers and place Lucy on her bed, I notice a large, lumpy reddish brown rock hiding underneath the blankets.

"Oh! A rock in your bed," I say, and pick it up. "That can't be very comfortable."

I set the rock on her bookshelf.

"She's my friend," Lucy says.

"The rock? The rock is your friend?" I say.

"Yes."

I accept that and move on, tucking her in and dropping a kiss on her forehead. As I walk toward the door, a little voice calls from the bed.

"Mom? Mom? I want my friend," Lucy says.

So I pick up the rock and place it carefully beside her on her pillow.

"There she is," Lucy says with a big smile, patting the rock. "My friend."

I tiptoe out and shut the door. I will probably never understand the things my children do. But they almost always make me smile.