"Well, get Little Elmo then, Finn."
"Mommy! Mommy! Finn wants Little Elmo."
"Where is he, Finn? He should be in your room. I can't keep track of Little Elmo for you."
"Mommy! Mommy! Finn wants Little Elmo."
"WHERE IS HE, FINN?"
"Mommy! Mommy! Little Elmo is in the big hole."
"What big hole?"
That's when the realisation hit. The hole in Finn's bedroom wall, the hole made by his door, the hole that was there because he had ripped out his door stopper many, many months ago, the hole I really should have looked at and realised where this story would eventually lead, this was "the big hole" in question. Good god, Little Elmo is in the wall.
And then, I pretty much laughed until I cried because, really, what else are you going to do when your son sends his most beloved stuffy down between two sheets of dry wall? At this point, our choices were pretty limited. No wall stands between Finn and his Little Elmo.
You can't make this shit up. You just can't.
Parenthood, people, have your tool belt ready. It really isn't for the faint of heart, and it's not for the particularly fussy either.
Chile has its miners. 
We have Little Elmo.
"Mommy! Mommy! Little Elmo needs a bath." Sure, Finn. That's what Little Elmo needs.
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