My little Princess is a precocious four. She has a sweet voice and her eyes can melt even the hardest heart. She sings continuously, even at the dinner table, where such activities are forbidden. She also has an amazing imagination.

Last evening, the family unit was in the living room, ready to start family devotions. Ready to start, until she interrupted with a question. "Do you remember when we were in that tunnel?" Tunnel? What tunnel? "Me and Trinity (the neighbor girl) and mommie were in that tunnel? And then something dripped on us, but we couldn't figure out what it was that dripped on us?"

"At the zoo?" She shook her head no. "At the cave we went to?" Again, no. Finally the Queen, may she live forever, figured it out. "Honey, is this something that really happened or is it just pretend?" It turns out the tunnel was just pretend. And we shall never know what the mystery drip actually was, because there never was a mystery drip to begin with. My wife was able to deduce this because of a school experience, just a few days prior.

The kids in my daughter's class where sharing things that were happening in their lives; verbal show and tell. When it was her turn, my sweet Princess shared the shocking news that just yesterday, there had been a fire at her house. In fact, there was more than just a fire, there were also fireman and a firetruck at her house. Her teacher, who lives just across the street, knew that the described event had not occurred and explained to my girl that they were sharing real stories instead of make-believe. My daughter admitted that she had just made the story up, and shared something less dramatic but more truthful.

I don't think she is trying to be dishonest. She just has a vivid imagination. She understands the difference between truth and kidding; she just doesn't comprehend when kidding is not appropriate. She loves to play make-believe and is surrounded by two creative siblings.

The whole scenario reminded me of a very memorable bedtime roughly 9 years ago. As we tucked him into bed, my oldest son, just 2 at the time, started complaining about his stomach hurting. We ignored the initial complaint assuming it was just another stall tactic, but it persisted and soon he was crying. When asked why it hurt, he said it was from the puzzle piece he ate. Being the good parents that we were back then, we immediately called 911. Actually, not really. Instead, we grabbed the stack of puzzles and started checking each puzzle for any missing pieces.

All the puzzles were complete, save one. Unfortunately, this was a puzzle of consequence...not cardboard, but 1/4" plywood. The missing piece was fairly small, but it still seemed too large for our boy to swallow. Yet with the life of our own flesh and blood in the balance, it was time to call 911. Except that we didn't have any money to waste on an unnecessary emergency room visit. Instead, we tore apart the room and started searching for the missing piece.

An hour later, many possible locations for the absent piece had been eliminated. My son's stomach was not one of them. The situation was quickly approaching the crisis point when something jogged my memory. I mentioned to my wife that this situation sounded extremely familiar. She concurred. After a few moments of thinking, I went to the bookcase and pulled out a yellow book. A yellow book, with a monkey on the cover. A monkey, named Curious George, who ate a puzzle piece and had to go to the hospital. We asked my son if he actually ate the puzzle piece or just read about it in a book. He thought for a moment, and then decided that he just read it in the book. A few minutes later, he was asleep.

We still have that puzzle, and the piece in question is still missing.