These many years there has always been that domestic chaos of things never being where you put them, things disappearing most adamantly without explanation. The dog took it. What the dog wants with tweezers, scissors, nail clippers, loo paper and dictionaries beats me. But there you go.
Now living with an adult son at home, I find the same whats-yours-is-mine attitude perpetuated - and I can call no corner of the house my own or anything I buy or put down my own.
This includes my computer, my work tool - which is now laden with downloads of I know not what. A quiet resentment burns within in along with a terrible sorrow that for mothers these things never seem to change.