When they are walking beside me back to the car after clothes shopping expeditions, I sometimes sneak a peek from the corner of my eye to catch them growing out of the new wardrobe items before we even get them home.

I do love to shop, but all the fun has been taken out of it lately because my 12, 15 and 17-year-old daughters need a new ... everything.

Of course, there was that dreadful rainy day incident last week when I put my baby's new - and perfectly snug fitting - jeans and tracksuit pants in the dryer ... and they shrank.

We both cried. I cried because I was already feeling weak from the haemorrhage of time and money.

And then she cried because she had nothing to wear - again.

These aren't fancy, expensive items I'm purchasing, and repurchasing, either. Although they do add up, obviously.

Compounding the issue of a need for winter woollies is the camping trip my three offspring are taking on the long weekend.

Knowing they will be living outdoors in arctic conditions has me constantly checking just how fleecy the fleecy lining on each potential purchase really is.

Hidden cameras recording my movements would reveal a frazzled looking middle-aged woman completing a series of pinch, brush and scrunch tests on a range of clothing designs with fluffy interiors - while intermittently asking her children to be nice to each other.

My high fleecy lining standards may in fact be the only thing standing between our family and bankruptcy, as I absolutely hate the thought of my girls feeling the cold.

I've tried feeding them to fatten them up, but their bodies seem to invest any additional nutrition upwards rather than outwards.

All three need new gumboots because last year's are stuck in the mud, were ruined when a sister wore them or have been outgrown.

Each girl needs new gloves because they are lost. We are good for coats and they'll have to keep looking for their hats.

When the sun finally comes out from behind a cloud, they'll probably grow like mushrooms and I'll have to start all over again.