Sunday, August 31 08
“Have you got a minute? I want to show you something,” shouted Mr Bennet from the vicinity of the marital bed.
Mrs Bennet, not being used to such offers in the middle of the day, ran back upstairs. Over the sea of boxes, dust and clothes, she could just make out her husband’s outline, bent over something.
“You know you’ve been complaining about a smell on your side of the bed?"
"Mmm," she mumbled, not sure where the conversation was going.
"Well it isn’t gone off milk.”
“Do I want to know what’s coming next?” she asked.
“Probably not but I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s a dead mouse.”
Her stomach turned. There lying next to a romantic novel and a book called “Look Great, Feel Great,” was the source of the offending aroma. It didn’t look great, feel great and it certainly didn’t smell great either. It obviously hadn’t managed to read any tips on love either. It had no sexual companion, died alone and thankfully hadn’t followed the Bennet's example on the production front.
“At least it hasn’t got any babies,” remarked Mr Bennet, reading his wife's mind, as he fished the mouse out of the box.
This was not a good start to the preamble of building Pemberley. If Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy could have an impressive country estate, the modern Miss Bennets could at least have a slice of it. With six women in the house, Mr Bennet did agree that perhaps another bathroom might be a sensible idea. The builders were moving in within five weeks, so Mr and Mrs Bennet were on the move. They couldn’t afford to move out as first promised (it had been the only condition Mrs Bennet had set in stone) so there was no alternative but to move out of the bedroom into the lounge. Without a third bedroom, a garage, conservatory, probably a kitchen and a safe garden, the already cramped house was about to get smaller, commonly known as short-term pain for long-term gain. Mrs Bennet wasn’t complaining, well not outwardly anyway. It was just that there was a huge list to tick off before the builder had a chance of even starting work.
“Come on, think of it as a chance to dejunk and declutter. Everyone tells me how liberating that is. I’ll see whether they’re telling the truth,” Mrs Bennet told herself.
One mouse and one awful smell less, she could almost believe them.
Sunday, 31 August 2008
Saturday, 30 August 2008
Baby Twin calls police for help!
Saturday, August 30 08
Miss Kezia Bennet had had enough of the madhouse she was living in. She rattled on the stair gate door separating her from kitchen and cuddle and made her feelings known. She wanted to be carried and now. Mrs Bennet got the message and scooped up her smaller 15-month-old, hooking her on a hip and continued to make sandwiches one-handed. This pacified her daughter, but because Mrs Bennet had to put her down to go and buy some wet wipes, Miss Bennet Number Five protested big time. Under the "un"watchful eye of Mr Bennet who was stuffing the Scooby Doo van's back end with the garage's stomach ready for a trip to the local tip, the baby twin managed to get hold of the phone, dialed 999 and called for help. She wasn't having any of this. Both parents were preoccupied and she wanted some attention. Mr Bennet knew nothing of this successful manoeuvre until he got a call from the police a few moments later.
"We have just received a call from your address. Is everything alright? Do you need the police?"asked a female voice.
"No, certainly not," he replied, suddenly recalling Miss Emily Bennet had mumbled something about Miss Kezia Bennet tapping in a string of numbers.
"Umm, I'm really sorry but I think it was one of my baby daughters."
The woman's tone turned to ice and asked for his details.
"If it happens again, Mr Bennet, I'm afraid we will have to take action," she told him.
Mrs Bennet wasn't sure whether Mr Bennet would have told her about this incident, but having several witnesses he couldn't get away with anything. Miss Emily Bennet was very quick to tell her mother on her wet wipe return.
"Kezia called the police Mummy!"
"It's got that bad hey!" laughed Mrs Bennet.
Back in her kitchen cage and locked behind a stair gate, Mrs Bennet felt like ringing 999 herself. Miss Kezia Bennet's partner in crime, Miss Rosie Bennet stood by her sister's side. Both were now shaking the cage door, demanding their next meal. Mrs Bennet, who was doing her best to appease these hungry babes, was serving a sentence for being the meanest Mummy in the world. Mrs Bennet was guilty as charged according to her eldest daughter, Miss Naomi Bennet because she hadn't bought her a pencil case, any new clothes and never let her have anything. Serving her time, Mrs Bennet pleaded not-guilty. Eventually Mr Bennet bailed her out and let her out for good behaviour.
Miss Kezia Bennet had had enough of the madhouse she was living in. She rattled on the stair gate door separating her from kitchen and cuddle and made her feelings known. She wanted to be carried and now. Mrs Bennet got the message and scooped up her smaller 15-month-old, hooking her on a hip and continued to make sandwiches one-handed. This pacified her daughter, but because Mrs Bennet had to put her down to go and buy some wet wipes, Miss Bennet Number Five protested big time. Under the "un"watchful eye of Mr Bennet who was stuffing the Scooby Doo van's back end with the garage's stomach ready for a trip to the local tip, the baby twin managed to get hold of the phone, dialed 999 and called for help. She wasn't having any of this. Both parents were preoccupied and she wanted some attention. Mr Bennet knew nothing of this successful manoeuvre until he got a call from the police a few moments later.
"We have just received a call from your address. Is everything alright? Do you need the police?"asked a female voice.
"No, certainly not," he replied, suddenly recalling Miss Emily Bennet had mumbled something about Miss Kezia Bennet tapping in a string of numbers.
"Umm, I'm really sorry but I think it was one of my baby daughters."
The woman's tone turned to ice and asked for his details.
"If it happens again, Mr Bennet, I'm afraid we will have to take action," she told him.
Mrs Bennet wasn't sure whether Mr Bennet would have told her about this incident, but having several witnesses he couldn't get away with anything. Miss Emily Bennet was very quick to tell her mother on her wet wipe return.
"Kezia called the police Mummy!"
"It's got that bad hey!" laughed Mrs Bennet.
Back in her kitchen cage and locked behind a stair gate, Mrs Bennet felt like ringing 999 herself. Miss Kezia Bennet's partner in crime, Miss Rosie Bennet stood by her sister's side. Both were now shaking the cage door, demanding their next meal. Mrs Bennet, who was doing her best to appease these hungry babes, was serving a sentence for being the meanest Mummy in the world. Mrs Bennet was guilty as charged according to her eldest daughter, Miss Naomi Bennet because she hadn't bought her a pencil case, any new clothes and never let her have anything. Serving her time, Mrs Bennet pleaded not-guilty. Eventually Mr Bennet bailed her out and let her out for good behaviour.
Thursday, 28 August 2008
Are they all yours?
Wednesday, August 27 08
Mrs Bennet realised her family was no longer politically correct. She had broken the 2.1 kid rule four and a half years ago when she gave birth to Miss Bennet Number Three. As she was also guilty of driving a large people carrier, she was therefore in dangerous territory. She was violating the unwritten fundamental law of minimising the carbon footprint. In reality she had produced ten extra footprints. These could be seen clearly on the Bennet's grubby green carpet, their outline often engraved in mud, soggy cereal and flour.
Mrs Bennet consciously put on her armour before she left the building to protect herself from an onslaught of comments. She half expected onlookers to throw remains of their compost heap at her - rotting tomatoes or cold, dried-out teabags. Instead words were the missiles.
"Are they all yours?" "My, haven't you got your hands full!" "Were you trying for a boy?!" or worst still, "Have you worked out what the problem is yet?"
She had an answer and a smile ready for each. Her best was regarding the "problem."
"Yes, I have worked it out. It's olives, but I'm afraid I still eat them!"
Mr Bennet never seemed to be around to hear the comments. He rarely went out with all five on his own. But when they ventured out with only the Miss Twin Bennets, every twin, every grandparent, aunty, uncle, sister, brother or godparent of twins seemed to greet them. Mrs Bennet didn't mind, she was the chatty sort and graciously answered their questions, but it did prove difficult when she was already late for school pick-up or an appointment.
"Are they identical?" "Are they both girls?" "Did you have them naturally? (as if it was anyone's business) "Are their twins in your family?" "How big were they when they were born?" "But you're so small, how did you possibly carry them?" "Are they good?"
She often felt like a contestant sitting on Mastermind's big black chair. "And your chosen subject is.......twins."
The problem was many onlookers struggled to believe the said babies were born on the same day. Brunette Miss Rosie Bennet, a mere six ounzes bigger at birth, was now significantly bigger, chunkier and heavier than her sibling. Blonde Miss Kezia Bennet, was petite like her mother and was wearing 3-6 month baby clothes at 15 months. So the observations in their differences made for extra-interesting remarks.
"You didn't leave much gap between having your babies did you?" And "You're brave doing it again so soon!" One lady had told Mrs Bennet how sensible she was not having twins.
"My daughter had twins and it was such hard work. I think you've done it the best way by having a gap between your babies!"
"How sensible I am then to have a 20 minute gap!" thought Mrs Bennet, too stunned by the comment to be able to utter a witty reply.
Mrs Bennet was many things, but even she would admit, having five children wasn't sensible. It was sheer madness, but then she hadn't banked on a) having a number four and b) having a number four with a "buy one get one free" sticker attached!
She went home and ate a few more olives.
Mrs Bennet realised her family was no longer politically correct. She had broken the 2.1 kid rule four and a half years ago when she gave birth to Miss Bennet Number Three. As she was also guilty of driving a large people carrier, she was therefore in dangerous territory. She was violating the unwritten fundamental law of minimising the carbon footprint. In reality she had produced ten extra footprints. These could be seen clearly on the Bennet's grubby green carpet, their outline often engraved in mud, soggy cereal and flour.
Mrs Bennet consciously put on her armour before she left the building to protect herself from an onslaught of comments. She half expected onlookers to throw remains of their compost heap at her - rotting tomatoes or cold, dried-out teabags. Instead words were the missiles.
"Are they all yours?" "My, haven't you got your hands full!" "Were you trying for a boy?!" or worst still, "Have you worked out what the problem is yet?"
She had an answer and a smile ready for each. Her best was regarding the "problem."
"Yes, I have worked it out. It's olives, but I'm afraid I still eat them!"
Mr Bennet never seemed to be around to hear the comments. He rarely went out with all five on his own. But when they ventured out with only the Miss Twin Bennets, every twin, every grandparent, aunty, uncle, sister, brother or godparent of twins seemed to greet them. Mrs Bennet didn't mind, she was the chatty sort and graciously answered their questions, but it did prove difficult when she was already late for school pick-up or an appointment.
"Are they identical?" "Are they both girls?" "Did you have them naturally? (as if it was anyone's business) "Are their twins in your family?" "How big were they when they were born?" "But you're so small, how did you possibly carry them?" "Are they good?"
She often felt like a contestant sitting on Mastermind's big black chair. "And your chosen subject is.......twins."
The problem was many onlookers struggled to believe the said babies were born on the same day. Brunette Miss Rosie Bennet, a mere six ounzes bigger at birth, was now significantly bigger, chunkier and heavier than her sibling. Blonde Miss Kezia Bennet, was petite like her mother and was wearing 3-6 month baby clothes at 15 months. So the observations in their differences made for extra-interesting remarks.
"You didn't leave much gap between having your babies did you?" And "You're brave doing it again so soon!" One lady had told Mrs Bennet how sensible she was not having twins.
"My daughter had twins and it was such hard work. I think you've done it the best way by having a gap between your babies!"
"How sensible I am then to have a 20 minute gap!" thought Mrs Bennet, too stunned by the comment to be able to utter a witty reply.
Mrs Bennet was many things, but even she would admit, having five children wasn't sensible. It was sheer madness, but then she hadn't banked on a) having a number four and b) having a number four with a "buy one get one free" sticker attached!
She went home and ate a few more olives.
Tuesday, 26 August 2008
Eau de Chutney
Tuesday, August 26 08
A perfumery was sitting brewing on the dining table. Various jars and pots containing the young Bennets display of their versions of Estee Lauder’s Beyond Paradise and Beautiful surrounded Mr and Mrs Bennet as they attempted to eat a late tea. It was summer and they were munching through Chilli and mash. What else could you expect to eat on an August evening? It might as well be November. It certainly felt like it.
Having a “pink” of girls inevitably meant the pinks occasionally got up to girly things such as making perfume out of flower petals, soap and water. Mrs Bennet wasn’t sure washing-up liquid had the same desired effect, but the Miss Bennets decided otherwise.
“So what have you called your perfume then?” Mrs Bennet asked Miss Bennet Number Two as she insisted on eating her parents’ accompanying salad, despite having just eating a two-course meal at a local restaurant.
“I don’t know - because it’s not very good!" moaned a defiant Miss Bennet, looking accusingly at her mother.
"I'm sure it is. Why don't you think it's good?"
"Because it’s got chutney in it!” Miss Bennet shouted back.
Of course it was all Mrs Bennet’s fault for giving her an empty jar of caramelized red onion chutney in which to prepare her fragrance.
“You could always call it Chutney and be a bit different,” offered Mr Bennet, coming to his wife's rescue.
Mrs Bennet could see it being a hot-seller. “Chutney: full of fruit and spice and makes you smell of a ploughman’s lunch!”
She could therefore understand her daughter’s frustration. A perfume ruined by relish, was not a fragrance to be worn by young ladies.
Mrs Bennet wasn’t sure what the “use-by” date was on the Bennet perfumes, so decided she best leave them well alone for today. She’d had enough battles. An hour earlier she found herself wishing she was an owl and able to turn her head right round to see what the Miss Twin Bennets were up to behind her. Mrs Bennet had managed to capture the little madams on camera simultaneously putting on baseball caps on back-to-front and munching through their sisters’ wax crayons, but then had to stop herself from putting the digital camera into the microwave instead of the onions. What she should have been doing was preventing the potatoes boiling over, which they of course did. Then, because she was sorting the spuds out, she forgot to shut the stairgate to the kitchen so she soon had four arms clinging to her legs, pinning her to the oven, which was thankfully off at this point.
Leaving the Chutney perfume well alone was perhaps the best decision of the evening. With a bit of luck mold might appear on the container walls overnight forcing her children to decide they should throw it away. Like her poor mung beans, which after a week in a caravan, and despite their tadpole tails, had never quite managed to sprout to their full potential.
A perfumery was sitting brewing on the dining table. Various jars and pots containing the young Bennets display of their versions of Estee Lauder’s Beyond Paradise and Beautiful surrounded Mr and Mrs Bennet as they attempted to eat a late tea. It was summer and they were munching through Chilli and mash. What else could you expect to eat on an August evening? It might as well be November. It certainly felt like it.
Having a “pink” of girls inevitably meant the pinks occasionally got up to girly things such as making perfume out of flower petals, soap and water. Mrs Bennet wasn’t sure washing-up liquid had the same desired effect, but the Miss Bennets decided otherwise.
“So what have you called your perfume then?” Mrs Bennet asked Miss Bennet Number Two as she insisted on eating her parents’ accompanying salad, despite having just eating a two-course meal at a local restaurant.
“I don’t know - because it’s not very good!" moaned a defiant Miss Bennet, looking accusingly at her mother.
"I'm sure it is. Why don't you think it's good?"
"Because it’s got chutney in it!” Miss Bennet shouted back.
Of course it was all Mrs Bennet’s fault for giving her an empty jar of caramelized red onion chutney in which to prepare her fragrance.
“You could always call it Chutney and be a bit different,” offered Mr Bennet, coming to his wife's rescue.
Mrs Bennet could see it being a hot-seller. “Chutney: full of fruit and spice and makes you smell of a ploughman’s lunch!”
She could therefore understand her daughter’s frustration. A perfume ruined by relish, was not a fragrance to be worn by young ladies.
Mrs Bennet wasn’t sure what the “use-by” date was on the Bennet perfumes, so decided she best leave them well alone for today. She’d had enough battles. An hour earlier she found herself wishing she was an owl and able to turn her head right round to see what the Miss Twin Bennets were up to behind her. Mrs Bennet had managed to capture the little madams on camera simultaneously putting on baseball caps on back-to-front and munching through their sisters’ wax crayons, but then had to stop herself from putting the digital camera into the microwave instead of the onions. What she should have been doing was preventing the potatoes boiling over, which they of course did. Then, because she was sorting the spuds out, she forgot to shut the stairgate to the kitchen so she soon had four arms clinging to her legs, pinning her to the oven, which was thankfully off at this point.
Leaving the Chutney perfume well alone was perhaps the best decision of the evening. With a bit of luck mold might appear on the container walls overnight forcing her children to decide they should throw it away. Like her poor mung beans, which after a week in a caravan, and despite their tadpole tails, had never quite managed to sprout to their full potential.
Stubborn mung beans
Friday, August 22 08
Mrs Bennet’s mung beans refused to sprout. They were huddled together like frogspawn in a glass jar frightened to do anything other than cling to each other. Although a few individuals had managed to produce a minute white tail, the results were disappointing. Mrs Bennet liked a challenge and thought it would be fun to see if camping and caravanning made any impact on her sprouting beans. They clearly had. Not one sprout appeared during the Dartmouth wash-out. The beans, like the Bennets had been victims of too close confinement – without the sun and freedom to grow, the sprouting tails had refused to come out to play.
Now, in Weymouth on the penultimate day of caravanning, the sun had finally broken through the clouds at 7am and transformed mood and caravan site alike. Mrs Bennet, having taken the older three Miss Bennets and her athletic parents for a ramble over hill to the beach for a pebble treasure hunt, was enjoying a moment’s peace, sitting in the sun with her mung bean jar by her side, now happily sweating in the heat.
Seagulls chattered overhead, dog walkers desperately prized their precious pets away from over-friendly canine neighbours and playful children were far enough away not to remind Mrs Bennet she was a responsible mother. She thought back on the week’s events which had included another opticians to mend Miss Megan Bennet’s glasses; several trips to the beach in the freezing cold, where fellow Brits sat huddled up in blankets and anoraks, clutched ice-cream cones and wore that “we are on holiday so we will sit on the beach” mentality and a few plunges in the indoor pool, where children splashed and jumped around while parents bobbed like plastic ducks in a bath far too small for them. Their purpose only to clutch non-swimmers and catch cold.
Rain tried to stop play, but the Bennet’s creativity prevented it winning. Armed in warm clothes and determination, the Bennets deprived the beach of its flat pebbles to use as blank canvasses for felt-tip decorating. On another occasion Mrs Bennet challenged them to find two pebbles which they believed stood out from the rest. Mrs Bennet found one engraved with a glistening swirl and another resembling an owl. Her mother, Jannie, found a cat face and an etched heart. The girls saw pictures in their pebbles, Mrs Bennet couldn’t quite see, but admired their imagination all the same. There were strops of course and Oscar-winning drama performances. Each of the Miss Bennets played lead character, while the other two made a sterling supporting actress. Mrs Bennet wanted to join them especially when the rain seemed relentless and sleep deprivation due to a teething twin started to wear her down. But Mrs Bennet was happy, she had drunk in the beach’s heavy seaweed aroma, she had skimmed stones across the water’s surface, she had seen her children laugh and she had managed to wear her shorts on the last day.
Her mung beans too had finally found a comfortable spot too. Happy at last with a feast of sun rays, their white tails were beginning to curl in tadpole-like fashion. It had taken two weeks, but they had found their place – and so had Mrs Bennet. But she was ready to go home.
Mrs Bennet’s mung beans refused to sprout. They were huddled together like frogspawn in a glass jar frightened to do anything other than cling to each other. Although a few individuals had managed to produce a minute white tail, the results were disappointing. Mrs Bennet liked a challenge and thought it would be fun to see if camping and caravanning made any impact on her sprouting beans. They clearly had. Not one sprout appeared during the Dartmouth wash-out. The beans, like the Bennets had been victims of too close confinement – without the sun and freedom to grow, the sprouting tails had refused to come out to play.
Now, in Weymouth on the penultimate day of caravanning, the sun had finally broken through the clouds at 7am and transformed mood and caravan site alike. Mrs Bennet, having taken the older three Miss Bennets and her athletic parents for a ramble over hill to the beach for a pebble treasure hunt, was enjoying a moment’s peace, sitting in the sun with her mung bean jar by her side, now happily sweating in the heat.
Seagulls chattered overhead, dog walkers desperately prized their precious pets away from over-friendly canine neighbours and playful children were far enough away not to remind Mrs Bennet she was a responsible mother. She thought back on the week’s events which had included another opticians to mend Miss Megan Bennet’s glasses; several trips to the beach in the freezing cold, where fellow Brits sat huddled up in blankets and anoraks, clutched ice-cream cones and wore that “we are on holiday so we will sit on the beach” mentality and a few plunges in the indoor pool, where children splashed and jumped around while parents bobbed like plastic ducks in a bath far too small for them. Their purpose only to clutch non-swimmers and catch cold.
Rain tried to stop play, but the Bennet’s creativity prevented it winning. Armed in warm clothes and determination, the Bennets deprived the beach of its flat pebbles to use as blank canvasses for felt-tip decorating. On another occasion Mrs Bennet challenged them to find two pebbles which they believed stood out from the rest. Mrs Bennet found one engraved with a glistening swirl and another resembling an owl. Her mother, Jannie, found a cat face and an etched heart. The girls saw pictures in their pebbles, Mrs Bennet couldn’t quite see, but admired their imagination all the same. There were strops of course and Oscar-winning drama performances. Each of the Miss Bennets played lead character, while the other two made a sterling supporting actress. Mrs Bennet wanted to join them especially when the rain seemed relentless and sleep deprivation due to a teething twin started to wear her down. But Mrs Bennet was happy, she had drunk in the beach’s heavy seaweed aroma, she had skimmed stones across the water’s surface, she had seen her children laugh and she had managed to wear her shorts on the last day.
Her mung beans too had finally found a comfortable spot too. Happy at last with a feast of sun rays, their white tails were beginning to curl in tadpole-like fashion. It had taken two weeks, but they had found their place – and so had Mrs Bennet. But she was ready to go home.
Monday, 25 August 2008
Toothache, rain and a high dentist bill
Saturday, August 16 08
To sum up the week's camping trip to Dartmouth then - two visits to the dentist costing £166, the milk bar closed and then re-opened two days later because cow and calf couldn't handle it, rain poured, poured, stopped, poured, stopped and poured again.
But despite the gnawing, all-consuming ache a poorly tooth brings, Mrs Bennet couldn't deny the Miss Bennets had had a great time. They'd enjoyed their first experience of crabbing over the banks of the River Dart with their friends, while parents hovered with hearts-in-mouths close enough to stop offspring becoming the bait. They'd also loved dragging Mrs Bennet on belly-churning pirate ship and trauma tower rides where she was convinced her stomach was left at some unearthly height like an over-enthusiastic pancake. Eventually it dropped but it took its time doing so. She admitted participating on water slides, particularly in darkness, proved an excellent way of letting off steam in the form of the loudest scream she could muster. It should have been made in the dentist chair - but having saved it for certain rides, made the scream of excitement (mixed with frustration) even higher pitched than she'd normally allow. The first visit to the local private dentist (it had to be private didn't it?) cost £40 for a diagnosis of teeth grinding resulting in a stiff jaw. Yeah right?!
"But you don't grind your teeth. And I should know!" protested Mr Bennet.
"Precisely," replied his wife, "But then I'm only the patient."
Four days later, Mrs Bennet, having cried herself to sleep with tooth pain, woke the same dentist up early in the morning and demanded to see him.
"You do know it costs £75 for a call-out and then there will be further charges depending on what you have done," said the sleepy dentist, who made it known Mrs Bennet had woken him up.
She spent a whole hour in the dentist chair that same morning, after he rolled up in his soft-topped sports car.
"Funny that you don't ever see a poor dentist," commented Mr Bennet, knowing full well that their bank balance would probably need root canal after the visit. He had the task of entertaining Miss Bennet number three with a collection of Noddy books, a broken rocket and a collection of soft teddies from the waiting room toy box. The two older Miss Bennets were experiencing yet more fast rides with friends while the twins were being looked after by the family with the Tent Mansion.
Mrs Bennet's only consolation was listening to Five Live's commentary of the GB Rowing team win Olympic Gold. One of the team was brought up in her home town so she was particularly pleased but it just wasn't the time and place to be listening to such news. She could hardly shout for joy with a white plastic hand in her mouth could she? At this moment she would have much preferred to have bitten the said fingers, but the bill might be somewhat higher than it already was.
A permanent filling had been removed, a temporary one put in its place. Mrs Bennet needed to pray it didn't fall out during week two of the Bennet holidays. It had to stay in place until a permanent one could be put in - which meant yet another stint in the dentist chair and more charges. But at least her dentist was dishy!
To sum up the week's camping trip to Dartmouth then - two visits to the dentist costing £166, the milk bar closed and then re-opened two days later because cow and calf couldn't handle it, rain poured, poured, stopped, poured, stopped and poured again.
But despite the gnawing, all-consuming ache a poorly tooth brings, Mrs Bennet couldn't deny the Miss Bennets had had a great time. They'd enjoyed their first experience of crabbing over the banks of the River Dart with their friends, while parents hovered with hearts-in-mouths close enough to stop offspring becoming the bait. They'd also loved dragging Mrs Bennet on belly-churning pirate ship and trauma tower rides where she was convinced her stomach was left at some unearthly height like an over-enthusiastic pancake. Eventually it dropped but it took its time doing so. She admitted participating on water slides, particularly in darkness, proved an excellent way of letting off steam in the form of the loudest scream she could muster. It should have been made in the dentist chair - but having saved it for certain rides, made the scream of excitement (mixed with frustration) even higher pitched than she'd normally allow. The first visit to the local private dentist (it had to be private didn't it?) cost £40 for a diagnosis of teeth grinding resulting in a stiff jaw. Yeah right?!
"But you don't grind your teeth. And I should know!" protested Mr Bennet.
"Precisely," replied his wife, "But then I'm only the patient."
Four days later, Mrs Bennet, having cried herself to sleep with tooth pain, woke the same dentist up early in the morning and demanded to see him.
"You do know it costs £75 for a call-out and then there will be further charges depending on what you have done," said the sleepy dentist, who made it known Mrs Bennet had woken him up.
She spent a whole hour in the dentist chair that same morning, after he rolled up in his soft-topped sports car.
"Funny that you don't ever see a poor dentist," commented Mr Bennet, knowing full well that their bank balance would probably need root canal after the visit. He had the task of entertaining Miss Bennet number three with a collection of Noddy books, a broken rocket and a collection of soft teddies from the waiting room toy box. The two older Miss Bennets were experiencing yet more fast rides with friends while the twins were being looked after by the family with the Tent Mansion.
Mrs Bennet's only consolation was listening to Five Live's commentary of the GB Rowing team win Olympic Gold. One of the team was brought up in her home town so she was particularly pleased but it just wasn't the time and place to be listening to such news. She could hardly shout for joy with a white plastic hand in her mouth could she? At this moment she would have much preferred to have bitten the said fingers, but the bill might be somewhat higher than it already was.
A permanent filling had been removed, a temporary one put in its place. Mrs Bennet needed to pray it didn't fall out during week two of the Bennet holidays. It had to stay in place until a permanent one could be put in - which meant yet another stint in the dentist chair and more charges. But at least her dentist was dishy!
Sunday, 24 August 2008
A night to test tent and nerves
Tuesday, August 12 08
It was the night which tested waterproof coating and Mr and Mrs Bennet's nerves. Torrential rain, strong winds and the fear of being blown away kept the adult Bennets awake all night. Mrs Bennet's nighttime prayer was brief: "Please Lord, keep us dry and don't let the children wake up needing the loo!" Both requests were granted, but the little twin Bennets didn't hear their mother's spiritual mutterings and in the temporary lull of the storm, Miss Rosie Bennet yelled. She was soon drowned out by a chorus of wind and rain, but their efforts were fruitless in soothing her back into slumber. She was soon joined by her sister and a twin sandwich quickly formed between mother and father, who were balanced on the airbed edges, receiving complementary pokes and prods by the fillings.
To add to the fun, a pair of seagulls squawked in delight as they attacked the Bennets rubbish bag, which had been carelessly left outside the tent. Mr Bennet, armed for battle, immediately took action in the darkness, put his dry feet down into a pool of cold water which was collecting in the living quarters, stuck his arm out in the rain and pulled in the seagulls' loot before they could cause any more chaos. Meanwhile the Bennet twins cried in stereo.
"This is just the pits," thought Mrs Bennet, half expecting the tent to take off. The only consolation was there were two travel cots holding down their sleeping pods. Thankfully the other three Miss Bennets were sound asleep and stayed that way until their sisters and finally their parents joined them. The parents however looked how they felt in the morning - rough. They weren't the only ones. Three families in their party had decided they'd had enough and were packing up to return to home comforts.
Mrs Bennet didn't blame them. But the rain hadn't defeated the Bennets yet. Their beds were dry, the children were happy and so stick it out they would.
"It's character building I suppose. If we can live through this, putting up with building work will be a doddle," mulled Mrs Bennet, her fighting spirit willing her on.
It was the night which tested waterproof coating and Mr and Mrs Bennet's nerves. Torrential rain, strong winds and the fear of being blown away kept the adult Bennets awake all night. Mrs Bennet's nighttime prayer was brief: "Please Lord, keep us dry and don't let the children wake up needing the loo!" Both requests were granted, but the little twin Bennets didn't hear their mother's spiritual mutterings and in the temporary lull of the storm, Miss Rosie Bennet yelled. She was soon drowned out by a chorus of wind and rain, but their efforts were fruitless in soothing her back into slumber. She was soon joined by her sister and a twin sandwich quickly formed between mother and father, who were balanced on the airbed edges, receiving complementary pokes and prods by the fillings.
To add to the fun, a pair of seagulls squawked in delight as they attacked the Bennets rubbish bag, which had been carelessly left outside the tent. Mr Bennet, armed for battle, immediately took action in the darkness, put his dry feet down into a pool of cold water which was collecting in the living quarters, stuck his arm out in the rain and pulled in the seagulls' loot before they could cause any more chaos. Meanwhile the Bennet twins cried in stereo.
"This is just the pits," thought Mrs Bennet, half expecting the tent to take off. The only consolation was there were two travel cots holding down their sleeping pods. Thankfully the other three Miss Bennets were sound asleep and stayed that way until their sisters and finally their parents joined them. The parents however looked how they felt in the morning - rough. They weren't the only ones. Three families in their party had decided they'd had enough and were packing up to return to home comforts.
Mrs Bennet didn't blame them. But the rain hadn't defeated the Bennets yet. Their beds were dry, the children were happy and so stick it out they would.
"It's character building I suppose. If we can live through this, putting up with building work will be a doddle," mulled Mrs Bennet, her fighting spirit willing her on.
Mrs Bennet the wasp killer
Monday, August 11 08
Overnight Mrs Bennet had turned into a wasp killer. She wasn't proud of her achievements but she had swatted seven stingers with a variety of implements including a wooden spoon and a fish slice. The Bennet's tent looked like a giant wasp with its orange and black skin so it was hardly surprising the life-size version felt at home inside. Unfortunately the little Bennets - particularly the twin Bennets - didn't feel at home a) in a tent and b) in a tent with wasps. Screams, panic and general commotion prompted Mrs Bennet to change career. She was now professional pest remover. She would argue that she was only following her husband's example. At some unearthly hour, all she could see was the silhouette of a man armed with a spoon, frantically hitting the air. It looked more like an hilarious war dance and it made her giggle.
That was her only laugh of the day. Outside it spat and spewed and Mrs Bennet missed Mr Latte. Her mother-in-law had sent a text to see how they all were. It didn't take Mrs Bennet long to respond: "We're dry inside the tent, but drowned rats when we're out. The kids are squabbling and I want to come home!"
Overnight Mrs Bennet had turned into a wasp killer. She wasn't proud of her achievements but she had swatted seven stingers with a variety of implements including a wooden spoon and a fish slice. The Bennet's tent looked like a giant wasp with its orange and black skin so it was hardly surprising the life-size version felt at home inside. Unfortunately the little Bennets - particularly the twin Bennets - didn't feel at home a) in a tent and b) in a tent with wasps. Screams, panic and general commotion prompted Mrs Bennet to change career. She was now professional pest remover. She would argue that she was only following her husband's example. At some unearthly hour, all she could see was the silhouette of a man armed with a spoon, frantically hitting the air. It looked more like an hilarious war dance and it made her giggle.
That was her only laugh of the day. Outside it spat and spewed and Mrs Bennet missed Mr Latte. Her mother-in-law had sent a text to see how they all were. It didn't take Mrs Bennet long to respond: "We're dry inside the tent, but drowned rats when we're out. The kids are squabbling and I want to come home!"
Singing roofboxes and sighing mothers
Sunday, August 10 08
"Listen, the roof box is singing!" informed Mr Bennet. Sure enough a tuneful melody was ringing from the car roof. However it only chose to sing as long as the Bennets travelled at 40MPH, because as soon as Mr Bennet pressed his foot on the accelerator, the roof top lost its sense of rhythm and instead gave out a monotonous groan. Once stationary (i.e. when they had arrived at the exposed camping field), the Bennet girls decided the wind whistling in the gap between the roof and the box, made it sound as if it was snoring.
Mrs Bennet was trying hard to get excited about this trip. "Why does anyone want to go camping when the forecast is rain, rain and more rain? Why do we want to swap our already too small house for a 20ft long tent, which has to fit in two travel cots, five children, two adults and too much "stuff?" May be the word "want" is the wrong word," she silently debated, "well, it is in my case."
The wind was strong. So strong it lifted Mrs Bennet off the ground as she hopelessly and helplessly tried to assist her tent neighbour friends by holding down a tent pole as they pegged their Tent Mansion down. She was secretly glad they were pitched next door as it proved an excellent bolt hole, a dry place for baby twin crawling races and a fantastic wine tasting venue.
By 8.15pm she decided she would enjoy rather endure this camping expedition - although in the days to come this decision was to be severely tested.
"Listen, the roof box is singing!" informed Mr Bennet. Sure enough a tuneful melody was ringing from the car roof. However it only chose to sing as long as the Bennets travelled at 40MPH, because as soon as Mr Bennet pressed his foot on the accelerator, the roof top lost its sense of rhythm and instead gave out a monotonous groan. Once stationary (i.e. when they had arrived at the exposed camping field), the Bennet girls decided the wind whistling in the gap between the roof and the box, made it sound as if it was snoring.
Mrs Bennet was trying hard to get excited about this trip. "Why does anyone want to go camping when the forecast is rain, rain and more rain? Why do we want to swap our already too small house for a 20ft long tent, which has to fit in two travel cots, five children, two adults and too much "stuff?" May be the word "want" is the wrong word," she silently debated, "well, it is in my case."
The wind was strong. So strong it lifted Mrs Bennet off the ground as she hopelessly and helplessly tried to assist her tent neighbour friends by holding down a tent pole as they pegged their Tent Mansion down. She was secretly glad they were pitched next door as it proved an excellent bolt hole, a dry place for baby twin crawling races and a fantastic wine tasting venue.
By 8.15pm she decided she would enjoy rather endure this camping expedition - although in the days to come this decision was to be severely tested.
Saturday, 9 August 2008
Goodbye Mr Latte ...for now
Saturday, August 9 08
"Well Mr Latte, this is the last chance I will see you for a while, so I'm going to savor every moment. Look, I've even got chocolate sprinkles today to make it special," declared Mrs Bennet.
It wasn't hard to step into another world. Mr Latte helped her do that. Her mind needed to go somewhere, anywhere - a place where she wasn't the cleaner, the cook, the bottom wiper, the referee, the picker-upper and the camp packer. Here, it was just her and Mr Latte. It was where she had time to acknowledge that her earring was missing, she was wearing odd socks and she was sporting blue and white toothpaste streaks in her hair. This was normal of course, but as she was usually in the throes of wiping runny noses, finding the right shoe for the right child and pulling a metal spoon out of the hands of one twin Bennet before it smacked her sister, she had no chance of fine-tuning her own appearance. It was in moments like these, she had luxury minutes to even think about herself. She left the toothpaste where it was and instead decided to press the pause button, breathed deeply and sat in her favorite cafe, people watching. Old friends were chatting animatedly, children were desperately trying to persuade their mother to buy them a gingerbread train and an elderly couple sat in amicable silence: the lady acting mum by pouring the tea, the man getting up without being told to fetch a teaspoon.
Mrs Bennet held Mr Latte tightly. She wanted to stay here a long time today. Outside threatening clouds were circling the car park. It didn't bother her, but she knew tomorrow it would. The Bennet's family holiday started in the morning and didn't she know it. That's why she was here now. Bennet daughters one, two and three were so excited they were getting at each other and Mrs Bennet was secretly and guiltily wishing she could stay at home. With rain forecast for the next five days, she had visions of watching a little twin Bennet sailing away on an airbed while the other happily splashed away in a mud bath - probably the colour of her coffee dregs.
Mrs Bennet took the final swig and sighed.
"Well, Mr Latte, I shall miss you. But I must get what I came in for - matches, milk and bread. Soothe whoever needs soothing while I'm away and I'll see you when I get back!"
Reluctantly, she peeled herself off her chair and reluctantly hunted for the last camping items. As Mr Bennet daily pointed out to her, camping had been her idea, so she needed to embrace it - even if she did so at the eleventh hour!
"Well Mr Latte, this is the last chance I will see you for a while, so I'm going to savor every moment. Look, I've even got chocolate sprinkles today to make it special," declared Mrs Bennet.
It wasn't hard to step into another world. Mr Latte helped her do that. Her mind needed to go somewhere, anywhere - a place where she wasn't the cleaner, the cook, the bottom wiper, the referee, the picker-upper and the camp packer. Here, it was just her and Mr Latte. It was where she had time to acknowledge that her earring was missing, she was wearing odd socks and she was sporting blue and white toothpaste streaks in her hair. This was normal of course, but as she was usually in the throes of wiping runny noses, finding the right shoe for the right child and pulling a metal spoon out of the hands of one twin Bennet before it smacked her sister, she had no chance of fine-tuning her own appearance. It was in moments like these, she had luxury minutes to even think about herself. She left the toothpaste where it was and instead decided to press the pause button, breathed deeply and sat in her favorite cafe, people watching. Old friends were chatting animatedly, children were desperately trying to persuade their mother to buy them a gingerbread train and an elderly couple sat in amicable silence: the lady acting mum by pouring the tea, the man getting up without being told to fetch a teaspoon.
Mrs Bennet held Mr Latte tightly. She wanted to stay here a long time today. Outside threatening clouds were circling the car park. It didn't bother her, but she knew tomorrow it would. The Bennet's family holiday started in the morning and didn't she know it. That's why she was here now. Bennet daughters one, two and three were so excited they were getting at each other and Mrs Bennet was secretly and guiltily wishing she could stay at home. With rain forecast for the next five days, she had visions of watching a little twin Bennet sailing away on an airbed while the other happily splashed away in a mud bath - probably the colour of her coffee dregs.
Mrs Bennet took the final swig and sighed.
"Well, Mr Latte, I shall miss you. But I must get what I came in for - matches, milk and bread. Soothe whoever needs soothing while I'm away and I'll see you when I get back!"
Reluctantly, she peeled herself off her chair and reluctantly hunted for the last camping items. As Mr Bennet daily pointed out to her, camping had been her idea, so she needed to embrace it - even if she did so at the eleventh hour!
Sudacrem and mashed potato
Friday, August 8 08
It was bedlam in the Bennet household. As fast as Mrs Bennet was trying to pack coats, shoes, sieves, vegetable peelers, knives and cereal bowls; between them, all five offspring Bennets were pulling out crayons, books, play food, beads, paper and pens. Miss Rosie Bennet had helped herself to a handful of Sudacrem and was now covered in thick white cream - which she soon discovered had no resemblance to toothpaste or yoghurt - and her younger sibling was having great fun pulling out as many wetwipes she could before her mother found out. In all Mrs Bennet was finding it virtually impossible to pack anything for their camping expedition - not that she was overally enthusiastic about it anyway. It was black outside, rain hammered against the conservatory roof and Mrs Bennet started singing a silly made-up song to try and muster up a shred of zest for the imminent trip.
"We're mad, we're mad, we're absolutely mad. No one's gonna argue, we're absolutely mad!"
The little Bennets, used to their mother's ridiculous outbursts, smiled and carried on what they were doing apart from Miss Megan Bennet. She saw it as her opportunity to get her mother's attention and interrupted Mrs Bennet in mid flow, with a "can you find the end of the Sellotape please!"
Mrs Bennet soon gave up the idea of packing. It would have to wait until Mr Bennet returned. So she put down her frustrations, and decided to play instead and soon became a climbing frame for the two delighted little twin Bennets.
It was bedlam in the Bennet household. As fast as Mrs Bennet was trying to pack coats, shoes, sieves, vegetable peelers, knives and cereal bowls; between them, all five offspring Bennets were pulling out crayons, books, play food, beads, paper and pens. Miss Rosie Bennet had helped herself to a handful of Sudacrem and was now covered in thick white cream - which she soon discovered had no resemblance to toothpaste or yoghurt - and her younger sibling was having great fun pulling out as many wetwipes she could before her mother found out. In all Mrs Bennet was finding it virtually impossible to pack anything for their camping expedition - not that she was overally enthusiastic about it anyway. It was black outside, rain hammered against the conservatory roof and Mrs Bennet started singing a silly made-up song to try and muster up a shred of zest for the imminent trip.
"We're mad, we're mad, we're absolutely mad. No one's gonna argue, we're absolutely mad!"
The little Bennets, used to their mother's ridiculous outbursts, smiled and carried on what they were doing apart from Miss Megan Bennet. She saw it as her opportunity to get her mother's attention and interrupted Mrs Bennet in mid flow, with a "can you find the end of the Sellotape please!"
Mrs Bennet soon gave up the idea of packing. It would have to wait until Mr Bennet returned. So she put down her frustrations, and decided to play instead and soon became a climbing frame for the two delighted little twin Bennets.
Friday, 8 August 2008
Not handsome enough to tempt me...
Thursday, August 7 08
Mrs Bennet's nerves were in shreds. She couldn't focus, she couldn't think and she felt crushed. And all because one person had written a few blunt comments about her writing. "It is sweet but doesn't have the wow factor or grab me," were the stinging words. For some reason they reduced her to an insecure 18-year-old leaving school.
Mrs Bennet was instantly carried back to her headmistress' office, where trembling, she stood before three interviewers, one of them a female ex-army officer.
"So we hear you want to be a journalist? We really don't think you are hard enough and you might perhaps be better suited doing childcare or library work."
The idea of confronting such individuals was to ascertain which career route was best for the pupil concerned. The army officer and her colleagues did nothing for Mrs Bennet's confidence and yet in a strange way, it brought out the fighting spirit in her. If someone said she couldn't do something, she was even more determined to prove them wrong. It was this same inner fight which enabled her to carry the little twin Bennets to 38 weeks. To be told she may only get to 28, made her hold on to them - even if it meant crossing her legs every day!
Having achieved 21 years as a journalist without a hard nose, Mrs Bennet had done what she had set out to do. Her dream now was to be recognised as a writer in her own right. But the words on the email had the same impact of those said in her headmistress' office all those years ago.
She re-read them. Hadn't she heard something like that before? Mr Darcy made a similar remark after meeting Elizabeth Bennet for the first time. "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; ...
And yet he went on to marry her. For the moment, she couldn't dispel the negative thoughts which whispered, "you're no good, you can't write, you may as well give up....." Her feet clotted in her socks and she looked in despair at the mess surrounding her. She was supposed to be packing ready for camping. Piles of cooking utensils, sleeping bags, water carriers, kettles, hold-alls, fold-up chairs and pillows filled every available space in their small home, causing her to feel even more claustophobic than she normally did.
Knowing she wouldn't have a car in the morning, she decided she HAD to do something - anything to get her out of this "I'm no good" mode. The older three Bennets had gone out with grandparents, so she called on a friend to take the twins and headed towards a supermarket. For the next hour she concentrated on piling her trolley up with tin after tin.
The email forgotten she drove home, passing as she did so, a blackboard sign outside a local pub. The chalk message read: "Sometimes you face defeats in life, but it's important not to get defeated."
Mrs Bennet was back to being 39, she sat upright, looked straight ahead and shooed the negative whispers away. If she was meant to write, write she would, no matter what obstacles were in her way.
Mrs Bennet's nerves were in shreds. She couldn't focus, she couldn't think and she felt crushed. And all because one person had written a few blunt comments about her writing. "It is sweet but doesn't have the wow factor or grab me," were the stinging words. For some reason they reduced her to an insecure 18-year-old leaving school.
Mrs Bennet was instantly carried back to her headmistress' office, where trembling, she stood before three interviewers, one of them a female ex-army officer.
"So we hear you want to be a journalist? We really don't think you are hard enough and you might perhaps be better suited doing childcare or library work."
The idea of confronting such individuals was to ascertain which career route was best for the pupil concerned. The army officer and her colleagues did nothing for Mrs Bennet's confidence and yet in a strange way, it brought out the fighting spirit in her. If someone said she couldn't do something, she was even more determined to prove them wrong. It was this same inner fight which enabled her to carry the little twin Bennets to 38 weeks. To be told she may only get to 28, made her hold on to them - even if it meant crossing her legs every day!
Having achieved 21 years as a journalist without a hard nose, Mrs Bennet had done what she had set out to do. Her dream now was to be recognised as a writer in her own right. But the words on the email had the same impact of those said in her headmistress' office all those years ago.
She re-read them. Hadn't she heard something like that before? Mr Darcy made a similar remark after meeting Elizabeth Bennet for the first time. "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; ...
And yet he went on to marry her. For the moment, she couldn't dispel the negative thoughts which whispered, "you're no good, you can't write, you may as well give up....." Her feet clotted in her socks and she looked in despair at the mess surrounding her. She was supposed to be packing ready for camping. Piles of cooking utensils, sleeping bags, water carriers, kettles, hold-alls, fold-up chairs and pillows filled every available space in their small home, causing her to feel even more claustophobic than she normally did.
Knowing she wouldn't have a car in the morning, she decided she HAD to do something - anything to get her out of this "I'm no good" mode. The older three Bennets had gone out with grandparents, so she called on a friend to take the twins and headed towards a supermarket. For the next hour she concentrated on piling her trolley up with tin after tin.
The email forgotten she drove home, passing as she did so, a blackboard sign outside a local pub. The chalk message read: "Sometimes you face defeats in life, but it's important not to get defeated."
Mrs Bennet was back to being 39, she sat upright, looked straight ahead and shooed the negative whispers away. If she was meant to write, write she would, no matter what obstacles were in her way.
Wednesday, 6 August 2008
Bless my sole ....the slipper fits!
Wednesday, August 6 08
"I now know what is worse than sleep deprivation - sitting in a shoe shop waiting for my children to be served when all the mums in the county have decided to do the same thing," mumbled Mrs Bennet under her breath.
It was the time of year all shoe fitters and mothers loathed with a passion. Finding new shoes for school. Patience was tested to the limit as little people's hopes of leaving the shop with their chosen shoes were dashed as either a) their parents couldn't afford them or didn't like the style b) they didn't fit or c) they were so popular the supplies had run dry.
Mrs Bennet and her three eldest daughters were holding fast to their number 50 ticket. The machine seemed to get stuck on 46, there were 20 children huddled in clusters around the sitting area, babies crying in pushchairs because the wait was too long and assistants looking extremely flustered yet wearing plastic smiles.
To their credit, the Miss Bennets sat patiently, secretly praying like potential Cinderellas that their feet would fit their favorite slippers. Mrs Bennet prayed a different prayer - that they would be seen before 2.30pm struck and they all got turned into pumpkins. Their train back to Stroud left Gloucester at 2.45pm. At this rate, they would have no glass slipper and no carriage to get home.
Thankfully at 2.10pm, 50 minutes after walking into the store, the counter moved. The Bennets - and Jannie (Mrs Bennet's mum) did a Mexican wave and shouted for joy as one young assistant called the magic 50.
Little Miss Megan Bennet was allowed to go first as it was her debut fitting session for school. She wanted a cat design, probably because it came with a toy kitten, but Mrs Bennet acknowledged they were sensible and practical and if they fitted - which they did - she was allowed to have them.
Miss Emily followed, her heart set on a black pair because it had a doll and a pet which could live in the sole of her shoe.
"Why do they do that? Whoever comes up with these gimmicks should be made to sit in a shoe shop with 40 kids all wanting shoes at the same time for penance. It's as bad as supermarkets introducing car trolleys. It's alright for those who get one, but for those who don't it's basically a nightmare for the poor parents. We're here to buy shoes NOT toys," she complained to Jannie, who was the picture of patience.
Mrs Bennet once awarded her a certificate, stating that her mother had gained an A level in patience. She knew she had much to learn from her.
With two children happy, the eldest was struggling to get her foot to fit her chosen slipper. Even with insoles, there were gaps where her foot was too slender. Looking at the clock which was heading close to departure time, Mrs Bennet was forced to step in.
"Look Naomi, you've got some new sandals, I think we'll have to get you some on another day. Is that OK?"
Thankfully her daughter agreed on condition she could wear her new bargain £10 sandals. And the five of them were able to leave in a dignified fashion, with "soles" lifted, ready to enjoy their train ride home. Mr Bennet had taken a day off to look after the twin Bennets so Mrs Bennet could give them a surprise rail trip.
As his daughters barged down the door, he was bombarded with shoe offerings and forced to voice his delight at their choices. Once he'd given them the responses they were looking for, Mr Bennet turned to his wife: "So how was it?"
To which she replied: "If you ever want to punish me Mr Bennet, all you need to do is put me in a shoe shop during August and leave me there. It's on par with another pet hate of mine - emptying cold tea bags out of the teapot!"
"I now know what is worse than sleep deprivation - sitting in a shoe shop waiting for my children to be served when all the mums in the county have decided to do the same thing," mumbled Mrs Bennet under her breath.
It was the time of year all shoe fitters and mothers loathed with a passion. Finding new shoes for school. Patience was tested to the limit as little people's hopes of leaving the shop with their chosen shoes were dashed as either a) their parents couldn't afford them or didn't like the style b) they didn't fit or c) they were so popular the supplies had run dry.
Mrs Bennet and her three eldest daughters were holding fast to their number 50 ticket. The machine seemed to get stuck on 46, there were 20 children huddled in clusters around the sitting area, babies crying in pushchairs because the wait was too long and assistants looking extremely flustered yet wearing plastic smiles.
To their credit, the Miss Bennets sat patiently, secretly praying like potential Cinderellas that their feet would fit their favorite slippers. Mrs Bennet prayed a different prayer - that they would be seen before 2.30pm struck and they all got turned into pumpkins. Their train back to Stroud left Gloucester at 2.45pm. At this rate, they would have no glass slipper and no carriage to get home.
Thankfully at 2.10pm, 50 minutes after walking into the store, the counter moved. The Bennets - and Jannie (Mrs Bennet's mum) did a Mexican wave and shouted for joy as one young assistant called the magic 50.
Little Miss Megan Bennet was allowed to go first as it was her debut fitting session for school. She wanted a cat design, probably because it came with a toy kitten, but Mrs Bennet acknowledged they were sensible and practical and if they fitted - which they did - she was allowed to have them.
Miss Emily followed, her heart set on a black pair because it had a doll and a pet which could live in the sole of her shoe.
"Why do they do that? Whoever comes up with these gimmicks should be made to sit in a shoe shop with 40 kids all wanting shoes at the same time for penance. It's as bad as supermarkets introducing car trolleys. It's alright for those who get one, but for those who don't it's basically a nightmare for the poor parents. We're here to buy shoes NOT toys," she complained to Jannie, who was the picture of patience.
Mrs Bennet once awarded her a certificate, stating that her mother had gained an A level in patience. She knew she had much to learn from her.
With two children happy, the eldest was struggling to get her foot to fit her chosen slipper. Even with insoles, there were gaps where her foot was too slender. Looking at the clock which was heading close to departure time, Mrs Bennet was forced to step in.
"Look Naomi, you've got some new sandals, I think we'll have to get you some on another day. Is that OK?"
Thankfully her daughter agreed on condition she could wear her new bargain £10 sandals. And the five of them were able to leave in a dignified fashion, with "soles" lifted, ready to enjoy their train ride home. Mr Bennet had taken a day off to look after the twin Bennets so Mrs Bennet could give them a surprise rail trip.
As his daughters barged down the door, he was bombarded with shoe offerings and forced to voice his delight at their choices. Once he'd given them the responses they were looking for, Mr Bennet turned to his wife: "So how was it?"
To which she replied: "If you ever want to punish me Mr Bennet, all you need to do is put me in a shoe shop during August and leave me there. It's on par with another pet hate of mine - emptying cold tea bags out of the teapot!"
The Phone Call Rang!
Tuesday, August 5 08
Mrs Bennet realised with annoyance that almost half her shopping money had been spent in just 10 minutes. The camping food list would consist of only tins, bread and crackers at this rate. The offending crisp which led to Mrs Bennet swallowing part of her tooth cost her £42 which hurt her far more than the tooth would have done if she’d not done anything about it.
“I’m obviously in the wrong job. If I earnt £40 every 10 minutes looking after the children, that would be £240 an hour! I look at mouths and bottoms all day long too but my purse is constantly empty,” she grumbled silently.
Mrs Bennet was secretly relieved it hadn’t cost her more money. But that was an expensive swallow! Somewhere in her body, a tiny piece of tooth was floating around. Not that she wanted to see it again, but she was amazed how a millimetre square could cost so much. Only last month a stone, the same size, had fallen out of her engagement ring and had cost £80. She’d got the Scooby Doo van caught on a gate post and as she had to either go forward or backwards, she completed the masterpiece and created £400 work.
Living was expensive. Living with five daughters, a husband and herself was even more so. She got her wages when she returned home.
“Mummy, while you were out the phone call rang,” shouted out Miss Emily Bennet.
The pain of parting with £42 eased. “When you hear such great comments like that, it makes living worthwhile,” she thought, kissing her second eldest daughter on the head.
The phone call rang to invite the Bennet family round to play that afternoon. This pleased the little Bennets as they did like to know what they were doing. It also meant the rain – which prevented them from riding their bikes and slashing in the paddling pool – no longer bothered them. Instead after happily picnicking on the carpet, Mrs Bennet put out two buckets, divided up the ring links which attached the babies’ toys to their gym, and challenged them all to see how many they could throw into their targets. It provoked a mini lounge Olympics which caused much amusement, followed by a painting session decorating the air-drying clay models they had made the day before. Once this was done, Mrs Bennet proceeded to get out two directors chairs (which were lined up in the hallway ready for camping) and threw a duvet over them to create a mini tent. A simple act but it created a source of great merriment – particularly when the little twin Bennets joined in after their lunchtime sleep and got stuck between the chair legs.
It was hard work on Mrs Bennet’s part, but at least the children were happy – until World War III broke out as usual around five o’clock. By the time Mr Bennet arrived his wife looked exhausted. She was persuading her daughters to at least try her sausage casserole while trying to stop Miss Rosie Bennet whacking her smaller twin on the head with a toy flute in the musical instrument box.
An hour later, five women friends were on the doorstep waiting for their taxi driver. She had organised an evening out at the pub, but since she had the largest car had been nominated the taxi service for the night. Instead of five little girls she had five grown ladies, who she was very tempted to strap in as was her usual custom.
“Now no messing in the back, no arguing and no whining!” she instructed her passengers.
“Yes mum!” her new offspring replied in unison.
A diet coke and a coffee later, she realised too late that she had overdosed in caffeine and was shaking. She returned home to find Mr Bennet staring at the dining table.
“Are you working?” Mrs Bennet asked him.
“No, I knocked over the hamma beads and now I’m trying to put them back – not very successfully!”
Mrs Bennet smiled. Hamma beads were the bane of her life. If they weren’t ironed when the designs were completed, a slight knock and they risked rolling everywhere, as Mr Bennet experienced first-hand.
Mr Bennet was kept busy for a long time. He had to abandon one design, but the rescued creation was dutifully ironed and placed in a safe place.
Mrs Bennet didn’t offer to help – she was entertained far more watching Mr Bennet polish up his artistic talent and motor skills!
Mrs Bennet realised with annoyance that almost half her shopping money had been spent in just 10 minutes. The camping food list would consist of only tins, bread and crackers at this rate. The offending crisp which led to Mrs Bennet swallowing part of her tooth cost her £42 which hurt her far more than the tooth would have done if she’d not done anything about it.
“I’m obviously in the wrong job. If I earnt £40 every 10 minutes looking after the children, that would be £240 an hour! I look at mouths and bottoms all day long too but my purse is constantly empty,” she grumbled silently.
Mrs Bennet was secretly relieved it hadn’t cost her more money. But that was an expensive swallow! Somewhere in her body, a tiny piece of tooth was floating around. Not that she wanted to see it again, but she was amazed how a millimetre square could cost so much. Only last month a stone, the same size, had fallen out of her engagement ring and had cost £80. She’d got the Scooby Doo van caught on a gate post and as she had to either go forward or backwards, she completed the masterpiece and created £400 work.
Living was expensive. Living with five daughters, a husband and herself was even more so. She got her wages when she returned home.
“Mummy, while you were out the phone call rang,” shouted out Miss Emily Bennet.
The pain of parting with £42 eased. “When you hear such great comments like that, it makes living worthwhile,” she thought, kissing her second eldest daughter on the head.
The phone call rang to invite the Bennet family round to play that afternoon. This pleased the little Bennets as they did like to know what they were doing. It also meant the rain – which prevented them from riding their bikes and slashing in the paddling pool – no longer bothered them. Instead after happily picnicking on the carpet, Mrs Bennet put out two buckets, divided up the ring links which attached the babies’ toys to their gym, and challenged them all to see how many they could throw into their targets. It provoked a mini lounge Olympics which caused much amusement, followed by a painting session decorating the air-drying clay models they had made the day before. Once this was done, Mrs Bennet proceeded to get out two directors chairs (which were lined up in the hallway ready for camping) and threw a duvet over them to create a mini tent. A simple act but it created a source of great merriment – particularly when the little twin Bennets joined in after their lunchtime sleep and got stuck between the chair legs.
It was hard work on Mrs Bennet’s part, but at least the children were happy – until World War III broke out as usual around five o’clock. By the time Mr Bennet arrived his wife looked exhausted. She was persuading her daughters to at least try her sausage casserole while trying to stop Miss Rosie Bennet whacking her smaller twin on the head with a toy flute in the musical instrument box.
An hour later, five women friends were on the doorstep waiting for their taxi driver. She had organised an evening out at the pub, but since she had the largest car had been nominated the taxi service for the night. Instead of five little girls she had five grown ladies, who she was very tempted to strap in as was her usual custom.
“Now no messing in the back, no arguing and no whining!” she instructed her passengers.
“Yes mum!” her new offspring replied in unison.
A diet coke and a coffee later, she realised too late that she had overdosed in caffeine and was shaking. She returned home to find Mr Bennet staring at the dining table.
“Are you working?” Mrs Bennet asked him.
“No, I knocked over the hamma beads and now I’m trying to put them back – not very successfully!”
Mrs Bennet smiled. Hamma beads were the bane of her life. If they weren’t ironed when the designs were completed, a slight knock and they risked rolling everywhere, as Mr Bennet experienced first-hand.
Mr Bennet was kept busy for a long time. He had to abandon one design, but the rescued creation was dutifully ironed and placed in a safe place.
Mrs Bennet didn’t offer to help – she was entertained far more watching Mr Bennet polish up his artistic talent and motor skills!
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
Five Oatmeal Men please!
Monday, August 4 08
“I can’t believe we’re in week three of the summer holidays already. I can do this, I will survive and I won’t be pulling out any more grey hairs by September,” Mrs Bennet confessed. She had been quite perturbed to discover a few appearing round her ears. The trouble was having dark hair meant they showed up more. Although having said that at the hairdressers the other day, the bubbly stylist cutting Miss Naomi Bennet’s hair, had presented her with a white hair.
“This is your daughter’s first grey hair,” she exclaimed. It certainly made Mrs Bennet feel better, but she did hope that was the last one for at least 20 years for her daughter’s sake. Thirty nine was acceptable, eight was not.
Mrs Bennet learnt a valuable lesson today – not to tell the children EXACTLY what they were doing, because inevitably this could all change. As it did this morning. The Bennet brood were supposed to meeting friends in the park, but as she was about to leave, thought she better check with her girl friend it was still on. It was just as well as they were driving up north and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday. Mrs Bennet would have been waiting at the park a long time! Unfortunately she had told the little Bennets this was where they were going, but thankfully the overcast clouds darkened in her favour and helped persuade them it was a better idea to go to a supermarket to hunt for suitable camp food.
That and a promise to buy a bucket to match their spades and a magazine each.
“I can’t ever remember getting my mum to do such things. I was content with making a den out of an old sheet and mum’s old clothes rack. Am I such a mug?” she thought. “Probably. But I did promise them a bucket last week and I do need a coffee.”
Ordering three iced buns, because you got three for a pound, and two oatmeal men for the twins, she sat down and enjoyed Mr Latte. It wasn’t quite the same sharing him with her children – he was supposed to be savoured alone – but at least she was sitting down momentarily.
The twins were happily munching their men. Miss Rosie Bennet devoured the head first, Miss Kezia Bennet tackled the legs and somehow managed to split hers in two.
Mrs Bennet smiled. If only it could be that easy! If she could just buy five oatmeal men for her five daughters at 10 pence each! The little Miss Bennets could of course have the choice of a cinnamon or chocolate man as well or if they could afford it a gingerbread one.
“I wonder what men they will choose when it comes to it?” she pondered as she watched them enjoying their ice-buns and mini men.
“A Mr Peely Wally, a Mr Latte or if they’re fortunate a dishy Mr Darcy, although I don’t like his moody attitude at times,” she decided, “but I suppose he does grow on you.”
A sudden desire to visit the little girl’s room by one of her offspring had a domino effect. The other two girls decided they too needed it. So leaving the twin Bennets to chomp the remaining parts of their edible men with her own mum looking after them, she escorted the others to their destination.
“We’re going to get through a supermarket full of toilet rolls in the coming years and I dread to think how many sanitary towels!” Mrs Bennet thought to herself.
Twenty minutes later the Bennet “pink” were lined up at the check-out, armed with two buckets, two magazines, a tin of spaghetti hoops and a tin of spaghetti castles and Princesses. Not content to share one bucket with her sisters, Miss Naomi Bennet wanted one to herself and traded in her magazine for a green bucket. Mrs Bennet realised this wouldn’t be the last diplomatic negotiation she would have to make. If only bringing up her daughters could be as easy as buying a handful of oatmeal men!
“I can’t believe we’re in week three of the summer holidays already. I can do this, I will survive and I won’t be pulling out any more grey hairs by September,” Mrs Bennet confessed. She had been quite perturbed to discover a few appearing round her ears. The trouble was having dark hair meant they showed up more. Although having said that at the hairdressers the other day, the bubbly stylist cutting Miss Naomi Bennet’s hair, had presented her with a white hair.
“This is your daughter’s first grey hair,” she exclaimed. It certainly made Mrs Bennet feel better, but she did hope that was the last one for at least 20 years for her daughter’s sake. Thirty nine was acceptable, eight was not.
Mrs Bennet learnt a valuable lesson today – not to tell the children EXACTLY what they were doing, because inevitably this could all change. As it did this morning. The Bennet brood were supposed to meeting friends in the park, but as she was about to leave, thought she better check with her girl friend it was still on. It was just as well as they were driving up north and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday. Mrs Bennet would have been waiting at the park a long time! Unfortunately she had told the little Bennets this was where they were going, but thankfully the overcast clouds darkened in her favour and helped persuade them it was a better idea to go to a supermarket to hunt for suitable camp food.
That and a promise to buy a bucket to match their spades and a magazine each.
“I can’t ever remember getting my mum to do such things. I was content with making a den out of an old sheet and mum’s old clothes rack. Am I such a mug?” she thought. “Probably. But I did promise them a bucket last week and I do need a coffee.”
Ordering three iced buns, because you got three for a pound, and two oatmeal men for the twins, she sat down and enjoyed Mr Latte. It wasn’t quite the same sharing him with her children – he was supposed to be savoured alone – but at least she was sitting down momentarily.
The twins were happily munching their men. Miss Rosie Bennet devoured the head first, Miss Kezia Bennet tackled the legs and somehow managed to split hers in two.
Mrs Bennet smiled. If only it could be that easy! If she could just buy five oatmeal men for her five daughters at 10 pence each! The little Miss Bennets could of course have the choice of a cinnamon or chocolate man as well or if they could afford it a gingerbread one.
“I wonder what men they will choose when it comes to it?” she pondered as she watched them enjoying their ice-buns and mini men.
“A Mr Peely Wally, a Mr Latte or if they’re fortunate a dishy Mr Darcy, although I don’t like his moody attitude at times,” she decided, “but I suppose he does grow on you.”
A sudden desire to visit the little girl’s room by one of her offspring had a domino effect. The other two girls decided they too needed it. So leaving the twin Bennets to chomp the remaining parts of their edible men with her own mum looking after them, she escorted the others to their destination.
“We’re going to get through a supermarket full of toilet rolls in the coming years and I dread to think how many sanitary towels!” Mrs Bennet thought to herself.
Twenty minutes later the Bennet “pink” were lined up at the check-out, armed with two buckets, two magazines, a tin of spaghetti hoops and a tin of spaghetti castles and Princesses. Not content to share one bucket with her sisters, Miss Naomi Bennet wanted one to herself and traded in her magazine for a green bucket. Mrs Bennet realised this wouldn’t be the last diplomatic negotiation she would have to make. If only bringing up her daughters could be as easy as buying a handful of oatmeal men!
Monday, 4 August 2008
No more dancing worms please!
Sunday, August 3 08
As well as sorting out her tooth problem, Mrs Bennet knew she had to overcome a few other problems before next Sunday – a day she wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest. The Bennets were going camping with lots of family friends. Camping wasn’t the issue, it was the fact that most of the occasions they had holidayed under canvas had resulted in a wash-out, so much so one year they had to abandon camp as a river was running through their tent, worms were dancing through the sod-cloth and as Miss Bennet Number Two was not yet walking, Mrs Bennet discovered there were no dry patches left to put her down. The final straw was the continual drips hitting their pillows.
“I only had two children then and that was bad enough. With five of them and two travel cots to fit in, are we mad Mr Bennet?” she queried.
“Well, my dear, let me point out, it was your idea to go,” he reminded his wife.
“Yes, but not because I wanted to, I thought the three older ones would enjoy it and they will. But it doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to the experience,” she replied, the rain agreeing with her as it lashed down on the conservatory roof.
Feeding five children who were very particular when it came to food, gave her a challenge. She decided to try out lots of tinned food on them in the coming week to see what would work. Packing, designing a menu, getting her tooth fixed and somehow smuggling her laptop in the car without Mr Bennet noticing would be on her list of “to dos”. Although they hadn't booked an electric hook-up on their camping plot, she knew close friends who would. Writing was her friend, along with Mr Latte. Without them, she would sink. That's if the forecast rainstorms didn't get her first.
As well as sorting out her tooth problem, Mrs Bennet knew she had to overcome a few other problems before next Sunday – a day she wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest. The Bennets were going camping with lots of family friends. Camping wasn’t the issue, it was the fact that most of the occasions they had holidayed under canvas had resulted in a wash-out, so much so one year they had to abandon camp as a river was running through their tent, worms were dancing through the sod-cloth and as Miss Bennet Number Two was not yet walking, Mrs Bennet discovered there were no dry patches left to put her down. The final straw was the continual drips hitting their pillows.
“I only had two children then and that was bad enough. With five of them and two travel cots to fit in, are we mad Mr Bennet?” she queried.
“Well, my dear, let me point out, it was your idea to go,” he reminded his wife.
“Yes, but not because I wanted to, I thought the three older ones would enjoy it and they will. But it doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to the experience,” she replied, the rain agreeing with her as it lashed down on the conservatory roof.
Feeding five children who were very particular when it came to food, gave her a challenge. She decided to try out lots of tinned food on them in the coming week to see what would work. Packing, designing a menu, getting her tooth fixed and somehow smuggling her laptop in the car without Mr Bennet noticing would be on her list of “to dos”. Although they hadn't booked an electric hook-up on their camping plot, she knew close friends who would. Writing was her friend, along with Mr Latte. Without them, she would sink. That's if the forecast rainstorms didn't get her first.
Sunday, 3 August 2008
Confidence and canines
Saturday, August 2 08
“Why is it that women always have a tendency to either put themselves down or believe they can’t do something everyone else believes they can?” thought Mrs Bennet. Now she was a year older, she was in that pondering mode.
“I suppose it’s a question of confidence. The thing is the umbilical cord (with a child attached at the other end) seems to sap confidence. That’s it! It’s transferred to the child who suddenly believes it’s the centre of everything, it is in control and can demand what it wants.”
Mr Bennet was right to worry about her sometimes. Mrs Bennet worried about Mrs Bennet too especially when she talked to herself . Yesterday marked a nine year milestone of baby making, nappy changing and milk producing. She had loosely decided to officially close the milk bar for good, but found she couldn’t do it. Instead Miss Kezia Bennet tucked in as usual showing no signs of giving up her mother’s supply.
This time next year Mrs Bennet would be 40, ending a decade of baby production, but marking, she hoped, the start of a new era. With building work due to start in October, she asked Mr Bennet if he could reassure her that it would be complete by her birthday. Then her 40th birthday would represent a more spacious and hopefully more sleepful season.
Thinking about the confidence issue, she acknowledged that her’s had had a battering over the decade. Mrs Bennet always knew if it was dwindling if she started saying “sorry” for things that weren’t even her fault. At those times she tended to slouch instead of walk with her head high and she was more likely to trip over her own feet. What had been easy before children, Mrs Bennet now found was like climbing Everest. At 23 she had taken herself off to Fiji for seven months, got the right flight at the right time, fought off rats, cockroaches and geckoes and didn’t think anything of it. Now, going anywhere on her own was so alien, it was almost scary.
Her mind was abruptly brought back to the present. She was munching on a crisp and in swallowing it, must have gulped down part of one of her back teeth, because it was no longer there. She felt sick in her stomach. Her tongue rolled over what felt very strange, something was missing and it would cost a lot of money – money she didn’t have – to replace it.
“Going to the dentist is just like putting your car in for an MOT. Everything is fine until you come out. And suddenly you have a hefty bill. I had the all clear at my check up the other day, and now I’m going to have to go back and get this tooth repaired. Why couldn’t it have done that while I was still on maternity exemption?”
The issue of confidence was put away to think about on another occasion. Now she was fed up – her tongue wouldn’t stop rubbing against what seemed a huge missing crater and she’d now have to get an appointment – before the family camping expedition began. Oh joy. But it would give her chance to sit down for a few minutes. Even it was a dentist’s chair, it was at least a chair!
“Why is it that women always have a tendency to either put themselves down or believe they can’t do something everyone else believes they can?” thought Mrs Bennet. Now she was a year older, she was in that pondering mode.
“I suppose it’s a question of confidence. The thing is the umbilical cord (with a child attached at the other end) seems to sap confidence. That’s it! It’s transferred to the child who suddenly believes it’s the centre of everything, it is in control and can demand what it wants.”
Mr Bennet was right to worry about her sometimes. Mrs Bennet worried about Mrs Bennet too especially when she talked to herself . Yesterday marked a nine year milestone of baby making, nappy changing and milk producing. She had loosely decided to officially close the milk bar for good, but found she couldn’t do it. Instead Miss Kezia Bennet tucked in as usual showing no signs of giving up her mother’s supply.
This time next year Mrs Bennet would be 40, ending a decade of baby production, but marking, she hoped, the start of a new era. With building work due to start in October, she asked Mr Bennet if he could reassure her that it would be complete by her birthday. Then her 40th birthday would represent a more spacious and hopefully more sleepful season.
Thinking about the confidence issue, she acknowledged that her’s had had a battering over the decade. Mrs Bennet always knew if it was dwindling if she started saying “sorry” for things that weren’t even her fault. At those times she tended to slouch instead of walk with her head high and she was more likely to trip over her own feet. What had been easy before children, Mrs Bennet now found was like climbing Everest. At 23 she had taken herself off to Fiji for seven months, got the right flight at the right time, fought off rats, cockroaches and geckoes and didn’t think anything of it. Now, going anywhere on her own was so alien, it was almost scary.
Her mind was abruptly brought back to the present. She was munching on a crisp and in swallowing it, must have gulped down part of one of her back teeth, because it was no longer there. She felt sick in her stomach. Her tongue rolled over what felt very strange, something was missing and it would cost a lot of money – money she didn’t have – to replace it.
“Going to the dentist is just like putting your car in for an MOT. Everything is fine until you come out. And suddenly you have a hefty bill. I had the all clear at my check up the other day, and now I’m going to have to go back and get this tooth repaired. Why couldn’t it have done that while I was still on maternity exemption?”
The issue of confidence was put away to think about on another occasion. Now she was fed up – her tongue wouldn’t stop rubbing against what seemed a huge missing crater and she’d now have to get an appointment – before the family camping expedition began. Oh joy. But it would give her chance to sit down for a few minutes. Even it was a dentist’s chair, it was at least a chair!
Friday, 1 August 2008
Birthday Bumps
Friday, August 1 08
"It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to!" howled Mrs Bennet as she lay on her bed. It was only 8.30 in the morning and already the elder three Bennets had managed to reduce her to tears. It was as if after handing over their presents and cards, they had done the special birthday bit for Mummy and could therefore conveniently forget about it. A mini fight broke out over who would use the cardboard box containing Mrs Bennet's chosen ornament; Misses Rosie and Kezia Bennet stopped in their crawling tracks and stared in awe at their older siblings - taking in every detail and no doubt storing it up for future use. Mrs Bennet ended up walking out on the temper tantrums, fearing she would say something she regret and retreated upstairs. When she did this, her offspring knew they had really upset her and it wasn't long before one of them silently climbed the stairs to boldly inform her: "We're better now, you can come down Mummy."
She didn't mean to, but she fell asleep and didn't wake up for an hour. When she came to, she looked in horror at the clock, realised the house was too quiet, ran into the lounge and was surprised to find all was well. The twins were entertained, there was harmony in the camp and she no longer felt guilty for drifting off with her friend Sleep - perhaps the best present she could wish for.
Mrs Bennet knew if she put her children first she would get a better birthday than if she did just what she wanted, so she took them out for an ice-bun. Not being a cake fan, she opted for a bread roll, which did look rather strange with a candle stuck in the middle. A gusty Happy Birthday gathered round a lit roll gained a few raised eyebrows. A few questions on age came her way, to which she replied 29. Whether they believed her or not, she was sticking to that answer. But Mrs Bennet should have realised her daughters would give the game away.
"But Mummy, that means I'm not born yet, because you had me when you were 30!" piped up Miss Bennet Number One.
Mr Bennet, being his kind self, decided to give his wife some time to herself, so took the afternoon off and enabled her to escape. All she wanted to do was go for a quiet run along a secluded cycle track and have a coffee in an award-winning bakery in a nearby market town which a double buggy prevented her from visiting. Minutes after arriving and just as she had her beloved Mr Decaf Cappuccino in hand, four boys - two of them identical twins - and a mother with a fifth child, a girl, in a pushchair arrived. Mrs Bennet, knowing full well what this lady was going through, immediately moved so the harassed mother could sit nearer her brood.
Having taking great pains to escape her five little Bennets, she was now surrounded by another mother's five children.
"I'm not the only one with five - and with twins - then!" she commented to her new companion. After a few chuckles, the lady admitted:
"We're in the process of emigrating to Canada because we can't afford to live in this country with five children."
Mrs Bennet's mind started working overtime.
"It's a tempting thought, but it's a bit drastic," she debated, "but I like my Mr Latte the way he is, I'm not so sure I'll find any Mr Darcys and Mr Bingleys for my five girls and it's far too cold for me."
Later on that evening, enjoying a rare night out with Mr Bennet, in a quaint village pub, she decided Canada might be the solution for one large family, but it wasn't the right one for hers.
"It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to!" howled Mrs Bennet as she lay on her bed. It was only 8.30 in the morning and already the elder three Bennets had managed to reduce her to tears. It was as if after handing over their presents and cards, they had done the special birthday bit for Mummy and could therefore conveniently forget about it. A mini fight broke out over who would use the cardboard box containing Mrs Bennet's chosen ornament; Misses Rosie and Kezia Bennet stopped in their crawling tracks and stared in awe at their older siblings - taking in every detail and no doubt storing it up for future use. Mrs Bennet ended up walking out on the temper tantrums, fearing she would say something she regret and retreated upstairs. When she did this, her offspring knew they had really upset her and it wasn't long before one of them silently climbed the stairs to boldly inform her: "We're better now, you can come down Mummy."
She didn't mean to, but she fell asleep and didn't wake up for an hour. When she came to, she looked in horror at the clock, realised the house was too quiet, ran into the lounge and was surprised to find all was well. The twins were entertained, there was harmony in the camp and she no longer felt guilty for drifting off with her friend Sleep - perhaps the best present she could wish for.
Mrs Bennet knew if she put her children first she would get a better birthday than if she did just what she wanted, so she took them out for an ice-bun. Not being a cake fan, she opted for a bread roll, which did look rather strange with a candle stuck in the middle. A gusty Happy Birthday gathered round a lit roll gained a few raised eyebrows. A few questions on age came her way, to which she replied 29. Whether they believed her or not, she was sticking to that answer. But Mrs Bennet should have realised her daughters would give the game away.
"But Mummy, that means I'm not born yet, because you had me when you were 30!" piped up Miss Bennet Number One.
Mr Bennet, being his kind self, decided to give his wife some time to herself, so took the afternoon off and enabled her to escape. All she wanted to do was go for a quiet run along a secluded cycle track and have a coffee in an award-winning bakery in a nearby market town which a double buggy prevented her from visiting. Minutes after arriving and just as she had her beloved Mr Decaf Cappuccino in hand, four boys - two of them identical twins - and a mother with a fifth child, a girl, in a pushchair arrived. Mrs Bennet, knowing full well what this lady was going through, immediately moved so the harassed mother could sit nearer her brood.
Having taking great pains to escape her five little Bennets, she was now surrounded by another mother's five children.
"I'm not the only one with five - and with twins - then!" she commented to her new companion. After a few chuckles, the lady admitted:
"We're in the process of emigrating to Canada because we can't afford to live in this country with five children."
Mrs Bennet's mind started working overtime.
"It's a tempting thought, but it's a bit drastic," she debated, "but I like my Mr Latte the way he is, I'm not so sure I'll find any Mr Darcys and Mr Bingleys for my five girls and it's far too cold for me."
Later on that evening, enjoying a rare night out with Mr Bennet, in a quaint village pub, she decided Canada might be the solution for one large family, but it wasn't the right one for hers.
The little grumps
Thursday, July 31
The runaway bottom didn't run away today. It was stationary, had no energy and wasn't up for moving anywhere. Miss Rosie Bennet was poorly and had been for two days now - hence no blog entries. She only wanted one thing - her Mummy. A constant cuddle kept the tears away. But the trouble was four other Miss Bennets wanted her as well. Mr Latte, Mr Decaf Cappuccino, Mr Peely Wally or more importantly Mr Bennet didn't get a look in. By the evening - having spent an hour in the doctor's waiting room with a lethargic baby - Mrs Bennet was spent. A friend had popped round earlier that day and asked her: "Do you realise that your cardigan is inside out?" She'd left her purse complete with shopping money at the leisure centre and she found herself putting the tin foil in the fridge. At least it wasn't the microwave. There were small mercies in every situation.
Mr Bennet encouraged her to step out of the house for a while early evening, but Mrs Bennet returned 20 minutes later. She didn't even have the energy to read the paper. She did however buy a birthday cake - for herself - as she knew full well her children or Mr Bennet wouldn't get one. Today, she wished she was anywhere but home. The summer holidays were getting to her. Moaning dragged you down after a while, time of the month didn't help and a sick child made it harder. In all the duvet was where she wanted to be - preferably on her own.
The runaway bottom didn't run away today. It was stationary, had no energy and wasn't up for moving anywhere. Miss Rosie Bennet was poorly and had been for two days now - hence no blog entries. She only wanted one thing - her Mummy. A constant cuddle kept the tears away. But the trouble was four other Miss Bennets wanted her as well. Mr Latte, Mr Decaf Cappuccino, Mr Peely Wally or more importantly Mr Bennet didn't get a look in. By the evening - having spent an hour in the doctor's waiting room with a lethargic baby - Mrs Bennet was spent. A friend had popped round earlier that day and asked her: "Do you realise that your cardigan is inside out?" She'd left her purse complete with shopping money at the leisure centre and she found herself putting the tin foil in the fridge. At least it wasn't the microwave. There were small mercies in every situation.
Mr Bennet encouraged her to step out of the house for a while early evening, but Mrs Bennet returned 20 minutes later. She didn't even have the energy to read the paper. She did however buy a birthday cake - for herself - as she knew full well her children or Mr Bennet wouldn't get one. Today, she wished she was anywhere but home. The summer holidays were getting to her. Moaning dragged you down after a while, time of the month didn't help and a sick child made it harder. In all the duvet was where she wanted to be - preferably on her own.
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