The Case of the Broken Crayon Box

It was regular cup o' cocoa kind of day.  I was in the kitchen washing the previously unrinsed dishes, Pandora playing in the background.  Samuel asked me for a Moose Bar.  Chocolate can be a dangerous addiction, even for a three year old.  Gabriella, the Artist, was in the front room working on a masterpiece...

...when out of nowhere, there was a scream.  Well, it was more a cry of dismay.
         Something terrible had happened to upset the quiet balance of a preschooler morning.  I dropped the glass bowl I was washing back into the sink, dripping bubbles across the linoleum.  "What is it?!"  I cried. 
        Gabrie came into the kitchen holding her crayon box in one hand, a fist full of crayons in the other and announced, "Mine cray-on box is broken!"  She demonstrated the malfunction by attempting to shove crayons into the gaping cardboard lid.
         I tried to explain that it was only paper and she would have to keep her crayons in some other container now.  She didn't like the answer.  Gabrie looked at me hard, her eyebrows knit in such seriousness, I knew this explanation would get me nowhere if I wanted her to smile like a kid again.
        "How about we tape it?"  I suggested, spying an unused roll hiding next to the refridgerator.
        "Oh!  That's a good i-de-ah!"  Gabriella left the room carrying her handy-dandy fix-it tool and I went back to the dishes smiling at myself for my most excellent parenting skills.
        Samuel sucked on his popsicle.
        A few minutes later, another wail came from the front room.  What could have happened now?!  I thought as I placed a clean, wet plate in the dishwasher to dry.

 It seems Gabriella had been so intent on the process of taping her box together that she forgot to let go.  That's right, she was taped to the box.

And Samuel thought it was awfully funny that we had to cut her out of it.