There's a shark in the house

Nate got a helium balloon at the grocery store on Friday. He played with it for hours this weekend. It lost the perfect amount of helium so it would float through the air and he could run and jump and hit it all over the house. Last night he hit it into the little cubby hole next to the fireplace that has some leftover fire wood and wood chips from the previous owners. Here's a shortened version of the conversation that followed:

Stephen: "Nate, don't hit the balloon in there. That wood is sharp and might pop it."
Nate: "There's a shark in there?"
Stephen: "No, Nate. It's sharp in there. Those wood chips have sharp edges and might pop the balloon."
Nate: "There's a shark in the house?"
Me: "No, Nate. It's sharP. P, p, p, p. SharP. Not sharK. SharP." (Emphasizing the "p" and "k" sounds.)
Nate: Very worried and with tears coming now, "There's a shark in the house? A shark will bite me."
Stephen: "No, sweetie. I promise there's not a shark in the house ..."

This continued for at least 30 minutes. We used every logical explanation we could think of to assure him that there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. That sharks don't live in houses, nonetheless fireplaces. But all the logic in the world couldn't convince him that a shark was not in the house. He woke up twice in the night crying, and no doubt it was because he was worried that the shark had finally escaped from the fireplace.

Here's a sweet picture of that silly boy with his my-mom-tried-to-cut-my-hair-what-was-she-thinking haircut.