Love Tank Empty

Friday, February 27 ‘09

Mrs Bennet’s Love Tank was empty. There wasn’t a single gold penny left in it. She’d ensured her daughters’ love tanks were full, but hadn’t anticipated them emptying hers in the process.
Earlier that day while the Miss Twin Bennets were having their lunch time nap, Mrs Bennet was preparing a session on emotional security for a parent facilitator’s qualification. The illustration she was using was a love tank – representing a child’s emotional bank account. By adding credit through praise, encouragement, kind works, spending time and having fun, a child’s love tank could be filled so they felt good about themselves. Love coins were lost if a child hurt himself, was treated unkindly by friends or shouted at. By the end of the day, although Mrs Bennet had done her utmost to ensure her five children’s bank accounts looked healthy; her own love tank was anything but.
She was sitting on the bottom stair, nursing a scorched shin. She had pulled out one of the oven shelves too far, causing her prized expensive square stone baking dish to tip out and smash its hot chicken contents on to the tiled kitchen floor and its boiling hot olive oil over the unsuspecting Mrs Bennet. The double pain of burning fat and watching her favourite dish crash to the ground was just too much after a trying and torturous afternoon counteracting an onslaught of moans, groans, whines and demands. She burst into tears, rubbing her stinging leg while Mr Bennet rushed to her aid, ordered her to put cold water on it and proceeded to clear up the mess.
A few love tokens were added to her empty tank by that gesture alone. She had thought she was in credit, but once school had ended, it didn’t take long before her bank balance was in the red.
To have one of the Bennet girls go off on a rebellious tangent was bad enough. To have four of them do so – and in full view of a very captive audience in her favourite supermarket café - was too much for one mother to cope with.
“Emily’s been nasty to me and Naomi Mummy. When you weren’t looking she punched me and pulled a face!” cried an unhappy nearly five-year-old.
Before she could answer, an avalanche of woos followed.
“I didn’t like the sandwiches you gave me today Mummy!” yelled daughter number two.
“Why did you put those crisps in my lunchbox? You know I don’t like them!” joined in daughter number one. Not to be left out, daughter number three added: “And Mummy why do you only give me water. It’s not fair because my friends get blackcurrant in their lunch bags and you never give me any!”
At this point Miss Kezia Bennet, who had been quite happily munching on her modest flapjack portion, noticed her sisters had something far more exciting and protested with all she was worth, causing heads to turn and eyes to stare. How could this angelic looking child make such a racket? And please not now, I am trying to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee, thank you very much.
Try as hard as she might to control and contain her children, Mrs Bennet knew it was a losing battle. Although her parents were there as reinforcement, her Dad was trying to pluck up the courage to tell his wife that in trying to fix a shower he had somehow caused a flood in the kitchen. He was therefore not engaged as he normally would and being deaf in one ear, conveniently blocked out the Bennet discords. Mrs Bennet was quite relieved her own husband didn’t have a bodging talent. She knew her mother’s silent frustrations only too well. Mrs Bennet’s dad was sent home to locate a friendly neighbour who, being a plumber, had conveniently bailed them out when bodges had gone wrong in the past.
Mrs Bennet tried to patch up her own situation. She needed to get her children out of the shop and into the car as quickly as possible. Miss Bennets Number One and Two however quickly reminded her that they had been promised they could spend their pocket money. Miss Bennet Number Three had already picked a magazine before the rude eruption and therefore it was only fair they could do so. Mrs Bennet should have refused, but the trouble was daughter number three had behaved no better than they had. Of course apologies were given very freely then and because Mrs Bennet was desperately trying to turn down the noise volume on Miss Bennet Number Five, she allowed them five minutes in which to choose their chosen item.
A minute later, as Mrs Bennet was tucking an angry twin under her arm, her eldest daughter returned.
“Mummy, can I have this please? It was on the shelf with all the books,” she asked, producing a small box called “Sleepovers,” naturally the “in” word for nine-year-olds.
Mrs Bennet held it with her free hand and read the small print.
“Pads with wings to ensure extra comfort.”
“Naomi, I would put it back and look for something else,” Mrs Bennet responded gently, slightly annoyed (and amused) that a shopper had abandoned such an item next to a collection of children’s books. It wouldn’t be long before she’d have to broach the whole subject of “wings” with her daughter.
Helped by her mother, Mrs Bennet arrived safely at the car. Relieved to have got out alive, she informed her children that never again would she take them en masse to her favourite café. One to one, yes. One to five, no.
Exhausted, Mrs Bennet ushered her children into the building site, and clumsily prepared tea. The moaning hadn’t stopped, sibling fall-out was high and the twins were fighting over a baby doll. She pretended she was deaf, worked on auto-pilot and tried to put a six pint bottle of milk in the microwave instead of the fridge. It was hardly surprising then that the chicken decided to adopt the “wings” she’d left behind in the supermarket and fly out of the oven.
For once she was grateful that there were no Darcys in the Dirt around. The empty bank account meant a sudden lull in activity. No money, no work. Probably the underlying reason as to why Mrs Bennet’s own love tank had drained more quickly than it would normally.
Tears brushed away, leg sufficiently nursed; the love tank was soon to be refilled. One by one, her children silently surrounded her and hugged her. Concerned by her cries, they each threw their small arms round her legs and knees, causing the love coins to refill her tank.
“We’re sorry Mummy,” announced Miss Bennets One, Two and Three remorsefully.
“And I’m sorry I got upset,” she replied, looking at her boot, now boasting an olive oil glow.
“Look at my boot!” she cried. “It’s all shiny.”
“That’s probably the cleanest it’s been since you had them,” shouted a voice from the kitchen.
The panda-eyed Mrs Bennet smiled. Her largest love coin was displaying his care by taking over tea, mopping the floor and picking up broken pieces of ceramic without one word of complaint.
Her love tank might lose credit on a daily basis, but the very ones who drained the coffers, were the very ones who refilled her love tank. She was a rich lady indeed.