Jesus, take the wheel.

My six-year-old niece, Emily, and I have a tradition when I go home for Christmas: every year we spend time on the internet looking at ghost towns and old graveyards. It's an interest we share, apparently. (I still contend it's a heathier interest than those slutty Bratz dolls.)

As my sister drove her to my parents' cabin this evening, Emily fell asleep. When she woke up, her first question was, "Did we pass the graveyard?"

Kelly: Yes.
Emily: Why didn't you wake me up?
Kelly: You see it every time we come up here; I didn't think I should wake you up for it.
Emily: [exasperated] Well, I hope you would wake me up for Jesus' grave.

She's a bit of a Bible-thumper but has a little trouble with the details. When she gets mad at Kelly and wants to liken her to the devil, she can't because she can't remember the name "Satan." She calls him Saul. She has to ask Kelly to remind her of the right name:

Emily: You're just like that guy--what his name? I call him Saul.
Kelly: Satan?
Emily: Yeah, Satan.