Tennis Shoes

Today's ride home from BigMama & Papa's found me the mommy on the phone. Very pressing business regarding dinner and the plans of one MonkeyDaddy. As such, I completely missed the turn at the short-cut in to our neighborhood. Normally not a huge deal. Except I had Eli in the backseat. And as I hang up my cell phone I hear crying from the back seat.

You forgot to turn riiiiiggghhhht.

Momentarily perplexed I do the What Are You Talking About

I wanted to go to the mess hooooouuusseee.

Whoops. When one takes the short-cut one is able to drive past a home with a yard full of crap, er, treasures. The very home we have deemed The Mess House. And while discussing dinner I'd missed the turn. You would have thought the propeller on his favorite helicopter had fallen out.

I apologize since I had promised earlier we would go that way. I've since made arrangements to go that very route tomorrow morning. But in the meantime I'm dealing with crocodile drama tears from the backseat. I encourage the diva to take a drink of his DrPepper - a rare treat! surely that will work! - but I'm quickly informed My eyes are really very crrryyiiinnnnggggg

And then my son exclaims I need to go home. Eni needs a tennis shoe.

A what? What do you need a tennis shoe for son?

I gone take dat tennis shoe an I gone put it on my eyes and it will make me feel better.

Ahh I got it now. A Tissue.

He made it home & manage to stop the tears prior to entering the driveway. We had a fabulous rest of the afternoon, including playing in the horrendous heat with his best friend Kolby. Turns out he didn't need that tennis shoe after all.