Upon returning home from dropping L off at school this morning, I was shocked and terrified to open my door and find this:

An after picture of tornado damage?

Was my house ransacked and robbed while I was away? I looked around and spied my TV, computer and iPad all where I left them. Unless these were criminals after something other than expensive loot, it was not a robbery. I continued my investigation and found this:

A trail of shoes, what could this mean?

Looks like three people were here, but left without their shoes? This is confusing. I turned another corner and another and found more of the same.

Washcloths? Puzzle pieces? What's going on here?

To my horror, this destruction was not limited to floor space.

Can you spy the broken sunglasses? Two pair of swim goggles? Hours of fun!

Clearly, someone who hates me has been here.

With dread and bitter disappointment, I realized that my house has not been ransacked nor has it been ravaged by Mother Nature. It has simply endured a typical morning with my children. This mess was made between the hours of 6:30-8:00 AM. In that time the kids also brushed teeth, got dressed and ate breakfast. Which means that they made this mess remarkably quickly.

I know what you’re thinking: they didn’t mess up that kitchen, you did it, Allison. That is true. But in my defense, the center of that counter top is just about the only place that no kids can get to. All day long objects are torn from grimy little hands and placed into that one kid-free zone. As the center pile grows, earlier confiscations migrate back to the edge. Like the scissors perched just within L’s reach. Don’t you think it all enhances how lovely my peonies look?

What about the shoes? Well, that would be S. All day she puts on different shoes, walks three steps and discards them. In this way she effectively covers my home with shoes of all types and sizes and guarantees that when you are in a hurry, you will only have one shoe.

Now I will go about the process of picking it all up. My efforts in this area make the game of “find our crap and throw it” so much more fun for my kids.

Now you know why I need at least 36 hours notice for any visitors.