With 3 boys under 5, there’s never a dull moment. Certainly never a quiet one… Buggy Blogger mum to J (4), B (3) and S (1) is feeling a bit skint.

There are no two ways about it, I’ve been fleeced.

Have I been ripped off in some internet scam auction, defrauded of my savings by an online-banking hacker or diddled out of the right change at Londis? No, nothing nearly so dramatic. I've just been hit by a fresh bout of wallet-bashing that's a frequent by-product of parenthood.

Forget another day, another dollar. In this house feeding, clothing and entertaining the offspring is more like another day, another shedload of dollars, pounds and pence all whistling rapidly out the window. Because without wishing to brag, irritate or sound like a WAG, you can't half spend money like water with three little children in tow.

Take shoes for example. How come kids' shoes cost just as much as adult footwear? But whereas I'd expect to get a good few seasons' wear out of mine, you know that … gallingly … the boys will outgrow theirs quicker than you can say 'sorry… cough … HOW much?'.

Then of course there's the small fortune I spend on nappies, wipes and Ladybird pants. There's pocket money, school dinner money and after-school club subscriptions. And then there's the weekly food bill; great hunks of cheese, monster packets of cereal and flagons of milk that positively dwarf the fridge door. No wonder my purse is starting to sound hollow.

But believe me, I'm doing my best to cut corners. I trim their hair myself. I take great delight in picking up charity shop clothing bargains (most recently a satisfying haul of Gap tops at 50p a shot!). And I'm never one to resist a bag of junior hand-me-downs with the result that their wardrobes are bigger than mine. And that's saying something.

Hang on though, what was all this about being on my uppers a paragraph or two ago? If I can afford to splash out on a 50p Gap hoody, things are surely not so dire… But wait, that was all before J's school Rainbow Day money spinner which has conspired to make me well and truly stony broke.

The aim of the game was to come to school dressed in as many colours as possible in exchange for sponsorship dosh. In other words an excuse to toss aside the boring school uniform, deck yourself out in multicoloured ridiculousness and pester all and sundry for money money money.

All well and good. And yes, I confess to being the biggest kid of all by helping J string together an outfit involving odd stripy socks, a kaleidoscope tie and a motley T-shirt flaunting a startling array of gaudy colours and then some.

And so as Rainbow Day dawned, I carefully calculated a reasonable amount to pay, totted up the number of colours worn (15 at my count) and then filled in the sponsorship pledge accordingly.

What could go wrong?

Well, a 3rd party adjudicating body of Year 6 girls independently checking everyone's colour tally, that’s what.

Thanks to their energetic handiwork, I was later gobsmacked to find J’s amended sponsorship form boasting a total of no less than *29* colours worn. Including, interestingly, both pale white and medium white. As a result, the sum promised next to my name now looks alarmingly hefty. (And that's even not taking into account the IOUs of the fictitious sponsors I lazily made up.)

Blimey. What's the etiquette here? Do I have a right to appeal or shall I just get out the Tippex to adulterate the form? If I can afford a new bottle of Tippex that is.

Can't believe it. Fleeced by a school fundraiser. They must've seen me (and my brightly dressed offspring) coming.

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