Deep Breaths

In the past two months I have had broken on me: My lovely vintage coffee pot, the last of my grannies serving platters - everything else got lost in the move and, today, my sculpture of the deer/horse/thing.  Which, despite my odd description, I loved dearly.

Who is the culprit?  Is it any one of the dozens of kids that traipse through here on a monthly, nay, weekly basis?  Is it any of the adults who come and play riotous games in our sitting room?  My kids?  NO!!!  It's my fucking idiotic husband.  

I didn't cry when the coffee pot got broken - not that important in the bigger scheme.

I didn't cry when my platters were broken - beyond tears I was so upset.

I fucking screamed today when my deer horse got broken because I am so bloody angry.  I take care of everyone's toys, dvds, machines that play dvds, books, clothes, whatfuckingever and there seems to be a distinct lack of respect for what is mine.  

If I was a paranoid person I'd say he was doing it on purpose but I'm not so I'm not.  

But I am a very angry person, I'm doing that hiccuping thing you do when you have a big cry.  I guess it's a bad time of year for me and the broken dear horse just reminded me of the platters.  I don't have a lot of stuff that I place high sentimental value on (most of that is upstairs in boxes, teeny baby clothes and pictures drawn by the boys and lovely birthday cards received etc.) but come on!!!!!!

As I shouted at himself.  IT'S NOT FAIR.  And it's fucking not.