So Not Kidding

I came home from work and Lloyd met me in the driveway with his keys in one hand and his ginormous bag of pilot crap in the other hand. He hopped in the car as fast as he could, calling over his shoulder, 'Don't be mad when you go in the house; I was really busy today and didn't have time to do anything and I won't be home until te......' And boy, he was SO NOT KIDDING. I would post pictures but I am genuinely afraid of CPS on this one. Here is a partial list of the carnage:

-huge half-gnawed hunks of cheese in multiple locations

-raw egg wrapped in dirty socks inside a graham cracker box stashed behind the recycling bin

-dirty breakfast and lunch dishes on the table

-at LEAST eight pairs of shoes and boots strewn around the living room plus a few singletons

-rat in the compost (outside; it wasn't quite THAT bad)

-two sets of pajamas, soccer clothes and wet, muddy pants on the couch

-box of raisins smashed into the carpet

-twin peaks of laundry blocking the hall, Mt. Dirty and Mt. Clean

I worked for a solid 2.5 hours, which is pretty much unprecedented, and there were still bits of string and chopped up bits of paper on the living room floor, a container of snails on the counter with the lids off and the snails among the missing, school books and supplies covering the dining room table and floor, and rubber bands shaped like fairies and numbers spread up and down the hall. Oh, and a puddle of pee on the back porch.

I don't care what time he gets home, I am meeting him in the driveway with a taser in one hand and a giant beer in the other, and I am so not kidding.