"I hid my monkey...that's all I'm going to tell"

So Sweet Pea and I are trying to get out the door to go to a friend's birthday party.  She comes downstairs and reports "I hid my monkey."

You hid your monkey?  Okay.  Why?

Well, I hid my monkey because he...umm...that is all I'm going to tell.

Ah.  I see.  Is monkey hurt?  (In my mind I'm now wondering what kind of harm might have come to her beloved sock monkey or any of the other monkeys she has that warranted hiding).

Ummm...well...yes.  And I don't think we can fix him!

Oh, okay.  (Knowing to tread lightly for fear she'll never tell me anything again if I get angry and because this is just not something to worry about, I proceed.)  Well, how about you bring monkey down here and we'll see how bad he is hurt and decide what to do from there.

Oh!  Yes!  That sounds great, Mommy!

She comes downstairs with a paper monkey that we drew, cutout, and attached to a homemade mobile we made for her dolls.  The flimsy arm is torn off of the monkey.

I happily report that this situation can be fixed with the amazing power of tape.  She is thrilled that monkey will have his arm back, will live another day, and that she is not in trouble for tearing a piece of paper that is less than a centimeter wide.  I'm happy because the adorableness of telling-but-not-telling on herself is hilarious.  But more importantly, because she has gone from shy and worried to smiling and excited, and it is one of those rare moments in parenting in which you feel you might have actually done the right thing and improved the situation.  There are few and far between.  I'll take them where I can get them.  :)