The last 5 years of life have been crazier than I ever expected. I could not have anticipated how many life changes would befall our family. As corny as it sounds I believed that our first 15 years of marriage were quite the fairy tale with only my crazy anxiety and depression affecting my world. I believed my marriage was in a solid place. Being a housewife with 2 kids and my husbands busy travel schedule was the only difficulty I perceived. I was wrong. Somewhere along the way, my husband and I developed some issues that were not clearly identified. I didn't know that my husband's stress had created an unhealthy communication problem between us. I knew I felt neglected and put aside for other important business. I craved more time together and missed him. The kids had busy schedules with soccer and piano lessons. Marriage is a difficult balance between two people and the lifestyle of trying to get everything together. I was putting my husband's job and my kids on the top of our priority list. That left me feeling as though I was the least important person in our marriage. I couldn't complain, but I did a little. Who can criticize a man who works hard and makes time to coach his kids' soccer teams? He was taking care of us. I still wanted more. Was I too needy to want him to spend more time with me? What I didn't understand that every time I begged him for more attention it put more stress on his plate. He thrives on keeping busy. He didn't understand how my depression was affecting my self-esteem and causing me to desire more from him. My husband isn't a good communicator of feelings. Not a surprise as most men struggle with emotions. He didn't tell me what needs he had and how I was not supporting his needs. Our marriage was in crisis and I had no idea.

Here I am again. Crazytown remains the pretty much the same. My last post years ago was a complaint about soccer shinguards. The story remains the same, only the items change. The plague of my life these days is my daughter's socks. I find them EVERYWHERE! The house is still a maze of crazy.

I never know what is going to set me off. It's usually something small. Small, but significant enough to send me on a one way train to Crazytown. Tonight I kicked something with my foot on my way to bed, and the object in question did not belong to me, yet it was inhabiting my sacred space, my jurisdiction, and the aforementioned object frequently finds it's way into my space, continually under my feet, even though I ask, beg, plead and scream for it to be removed. You see, I am not talented in the art of housekeeping, and doing a few loads of laundry or cleaning the kitchen are about the extent to which I am willing to perform on a daily basis, so any item finding it's way into my path makes a permanent mark on my soul, a failure of my duties, an inadequacy that I have never mastered this piece of my life. Anything or anyone who adds to my clutter and disarray is just making my life that much harder, that much more dismal and frustrating. This being the hundreth time kicking such an object, I lost it. I began spiralling down into an "episode," if you will, of desperation, panic. "Why me?" I began. "Why do they do this to ME?" I become agitated, I cannot sleep. The list of actions I must take to get this house and it's occupants whipped into shape is long and will take years to complete. I am overwhelmed. I realize I am in Crazytown yet again, and I try to find my way back home. Home is where a mom can just pick up her kid's soccer shin guards off of the floor of her bathroom, brush her teeth, kiss her husband goodnight, and go to sleep. There's no place like home.

Welcome to Crazy Town. I live here.