How a pair of socks= a melt down

I had a bit of a melt down today. After not sleeping the last two nights, feeling the stress of the current job situations with Bryan's job loss and my "situation that will not be named" at school, plus managing other activities with friends, family and church and of course the regular mundane household chores and the responsibilities and expectations that come with parenting a developing and stubborn toddler, I suddenly felt very overwhelmed.

I wanted someone to talk to, but I didn't want to stress him out any further than he already is. I just needed to vent and to hear that voice of reason and humor that I could always count on in times of stress; I wanted to talk to my mom. But I couldn't talk to her of course, (I had to remind myself,) she died two years ago. So I swallowed down my emotions and I pushed through the day. It was only a matter of time before it all boiled over.

It was laundry that finally pushed me over the edge. We were getting ready to go to an engagement party this afternoon and I was trying to find something to wear- not fancy, just clean and acceptable for public viewing. I couldn't find anything, all my clothing it seemed was either dirty, missing or suddenly didn't fit even if it had fit just a week prior.

My body had all of a sudden taken on a life of its own and I subsequently became the stereotype in every sketch comedy and stand-up routine about women and wives, stomping around half-dressed declaring I had "nothing to wear," breathing expletives in my closet at nobody in particular and shoving clothes from the clean-clothing basket into my drawers.

It came to a head when I found Bryan's socks on my dresser, again. (Bryan had already put his clothes away.) This was the third or fourth time in the last few months that this particular pair of socks had appeared in my pile of clothing, or on top of my dresser even though it was obviously not mine. He walked in during my tirade and I tossed them at him, "these are YOUR Socks!!!" I shouted.

"Okay..why are you yelling at me?"

"Because!" Cue tears.... "This is the third time," sniff, "I have had to give them to you in the last month; how hard is it to put your own socks away..." sniff, sniff "can't you tell what your own socks look like!?!"

He looked at me incredulously, as if I had just fallen off the crazy train. And no, it is not that time of the month, in case you are wondering.

The stress of his job loss and my work "situation" had been eating at me all weekend; I had been walking around with it brewing inside. I was feeling overwhelmed with anxiety and now suddenly overcome with the deep and gut-wrenching desire to talk to my mother.
I became simultaneously frustrated and mournful and so I responded as any responsible adult would do, I threw a temper tantrum about a pair of socks, because I'm cool like that.

I apologized to my husband and explained I was just feeling overwhelmed about my school situation and his job situation and how suddenly today, I was missing my mother. He told me he understood and that he too he was freaking out and that I had apparently acted the way he is feeling, so no harm, no foul.

Good times.