Calliope, picking up her toy phone, "Mommy, let's call your Mommy!"
Me, "Lovey, we can't call Grammy. She died, remember?"
C: "That's okay, I can call her." (I start preparing to get misty, wondering if she might really have some supernatural connection with my mother.)
"Hi Grammy, how are you?"
"Oh, you're dead? That's good."
And... cut. No mist after all.