Sometimes I feel nothing is mine, just for me. Do other mums find the rest of their family treats all their possessions as if they were theirs?

Even my breakfast isn't sacred anymore. I opened the fridge the other morning to get out the Greek yoghurt I like for breakfast to find it had all been eaten.

"Who has eaten my yoghurt?" I said accusingly. "Don't look at me," said daughter. "Yoghurt is far too healthy for me - I prefer chocolate cake for breakfast."

It didn't matter really because all the honey I had brought back from holiday to go on the yoghurt had been eaten as well.

"Don't look at me, I prefer chocolate spread or jam," said daughter.

Him indoors admitted to being the yoghurt and honey thief when he came home later.

"It's quite nice really," he said, "especially with extra sugar."

I bought two pots of yoghurt at the supermarket later that day and hid one at the back of the fridge just for me.

Next was my socks. I have lots of socks so how come my drawer was empty but there were none in the wash? I looked in daughter's room and found about 20 pairs, including mine, littering the floor.

"Well I'd run out," she said.

"Have you ever thought of saying, 'Excuse me Mum, can I borrow a pair of socks?, instead of just helping yourself?" I said.

"Ohhh, nag, nag, nag," she muttered, taking herself off to watch TV.

Next I found some perfume I had bought had been opened. "Who opened this perfume?" I demanded.

"Definitely not me," said him indoors.

"I did, I wanted to know what it smelt like," admitted daughter. "It's a bit boring."

"Well, actually I bought it for your Grandma for a birthday present, I can hardly give it to her opened. Couldn't you just ask before you help yourself?"

"Nag, nag, nag," said daughter quietly, taking herself off to do her homework.

I went off to the bedroom to find my shoe cupboard had been ransacked (daughter looking for a pair to go to a party in), the kitchen to find my purse open (him indoors looking for money to pay the window cleaner), the living room to find my new Marie Claire magazine in the dog basket (the dog looking for something to chew I think, unless he's suddenly discovered in interest in fashion and articles about how difficult it is for women in the third world) and the garden to find the cats had dug up a plant I'd just planted and sicked up a furball on it (just sheer feline perversity).

One day I shall run away and live all by myself and everything will be just for me.