Monday, April 27 ‘09
It was three o’clock in the morning and to say Mrs Bennet was feeling angry was an understatement. She hadn’t gone to bed as early as she had liked because she had had a writing deadline to meet. It was past one o’clock when she finally crawled into bed. Mr Bennet had made his appointment to see Mr Sleep hours before and no crying child would wake him. As Mrs Bennet had missed her appointment, the crying child woke her instead – just as she had eventually drifted off, even though her mind was troubled. The annoying alarm bell wasn’t going to be switched off and it was quickly joined by its neighbouring bell. Mrs Bennet’s head was spinning. She was fuming over everything. Time of the month hormones only served to fuel the rage within. Why was life so cruel at times? Why did it come and bulldoze emotions? Seeing the hurt and pain in her dad’s eyes, and the fear and worry in her mum’s, only echoed her own. She’d taken it out on Mr Bennet that night and accused him of being useless at emotional stuff. Not being one to have angry outbursts, she had surprised herself but the words had slipped out before she could stop them and the man from Mars withdrew to his cave, wounded.
Shortly afterward Miss Bennet Number Three bolted in with a problem he could fix.
“Daddy can you punch up my tyres please? They’re flat and need punching up!” she declared, with hands on hips.
Glad to be able to assist Mr Bennet did the punching required. Mrs Bennet having punched him with words, did apologise later for her unkind words. The truth was she couldn’t cope with emotional pain either. It was far more draining and difficult to handle than anything physical. There were no easy answers and the waiting game was horrid.
It was these raw emotions which surfaced again as Spag and Bol’s demanding cries robbed Mrs Bennet’s appointment with Mr Sleep. Grabbing her pillow she resumed her sandwich position between cots. It worked for one child, but it wasn’t enough for the other, who wanted a drink.
Cold and fed up, Mrs Bennet went on the hunt for a beaker. As the Darcys in the Dirt were taking her kitchen apart in the morning, the cupboards were now empty. Their contents were on the floor in boxes. But at 3am Mrs Bennet couldn’t remember which box contained the cups and drink bottles. She stubbed her toe on a ceramic dish that hadn’t yet found a temporary home and wanted to cry – cry at the mess before her. The upheaval of building bite-size Pemberley epitomized the disruption and disturbance the word cancer achieved with emotions. At this very moment in time she wanted to howl as Rosie was doing so well upstairs. She knew her mum would be up, unable to sleep too. It wasn’t fair. Jannie didn’t deserve this. Her dad didn’t deserve this.
She stood motionless in the midst of the kitchen chaos. The nearly two-year-old's crying suddenly stopped. Fed up with waiting for her mother to return, Miss Bennet Number Four had given up and had fallen asleep. Peace was in the camp. And now her raging had quietened down, Mrs Bennet was also starting to whimper instead of whale. In the coming weeks, the storms would come and go. But despite them, she knew it was vital to hold on to the arms of Peace – and warn Mr Bennet he might be needed as a punch-bag now and then.
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Thursday, 23 April 2009
Jannie’s Jamaican Courage
Monday, April 20 09
Jamaica the rag doll was sitting on Mrs Bennet’s lap, being held rather too tightly. Miss Bennet Number Two was perched on a doctor’s couch, grimacing as the doctor sapped her verruca with liquid nitrogen. As Miss Bennet winced, Mrs Bennet squeezed the doll, complete with its hospital tagged-wrist, which bore the date of her last hospital visit three years ago. Miss Emily had needed an operation and the doll had gone in with her for comfort. Mrs Bennet recalled the awful moment when she had to walk away from her anaesthetised daughter – leaving her on the operating table. It was why she was clutching the doll now. Not because her daughter was pained by the freezing treatment, but because at this very moment her own mum was being put to sleep ready for an operation for breast cancer. Jamaica – bought on holiday in the Caribbean – lived at Jannie’s house. She came out when she was needed to escort an anxious child to hospital or the doctor’s surgery to provide courage and comfort. It was Jannie who needed her the most today, and it was Jannie Mrs Bennet was thinking and praying about at each squirt of the liquid nitrogen.
But Jamaica was soothing Mrs Bennet the most at this moment. Looking at the perfect tropical blue sky outdoors, Mrs Bennet could quite easily imagine being in the “land of wood and water,” where waterfalls, springs, rivers and streams flowed to fertile plains from its forest-clad mountains. The thought of biting into a luscious tropical fruit with a weird and wonderful name or sniffing the tempting aroma of a world-famous Blue Mountain coffee was almost tangible. The latter would probably taste better than Mr Latte. Mrs Bennet had gone off him. He no longer hit the spot. There were issues here too emotional for him to soothe. He could make her feel better about living on a building site, but he couldn’t take away the scary and almost surreal journey her precious mum was now facing. If only a dose of hot frothy milk and a shot of caffeine could make it better. But it couldn’t. It was a long waiting game where there was no control. However Mrs Bennet knew if anyone could walk this new uncertain path with dignity, humour and strength, her mum could.
“Mummy, can I have Jamaica back now please?” asked the small patient leaping off the couch, quickly forgetting her painful toe and bouncing as she normally did in Tigger-like-fashion. This polite request relieved Mrs Bennet's knuckles of their clenching and snapped her back into mother mode.
Back at the almost finished bite-size Pemberley, the rest of the little Bennets were being looked after by friends. The Darcys in the Dirt had incidentally returned that morning, marking the start of the last chapter. They had originally planned to rip the kitchen out that morning, but due to the more pressing operation, had looked kindly on Mrs Bennet and gave her an extra week to pack the cupboard contents into boxes. Instead they were at the bottom of the garden insulating her office.
Now Jamaica’s job had been done, Mrs Bennet did contemplate taking her into hospital to sit at the bottom of her mum’s bed, but thought better of it. Instead she took a handful of home-made cards, the older Miss Bennets had insisted on making, to cheer the patient on. Looking as pale as her blond-streaked hair, Jannie managed a smile. Drained of colour, she was still the beautiful woman they all loved. Her inner strength and positive nature was shining through. And Mrs Bennet knew Jannie was everything Jamaica, the rag doll stood for – heart and courage.
Jamaica the rag doll was sitting on Mrs Bennet’s lap, being held rather too tightly. Miss Bennet Number Two was perched on a doctor’s couch, grimacing as the doctor sapped her verruca with liquid nitrogen. As Miss Bennet winced, Mrs Bennet squeezed the doll, complete with its hospital tagged-wrist, which bore the date of her last hospital visit three years ago. Miss Emily had needed an operation and the doll had gone in with her for comfort. Mrs Bennet recalled the awful moment when she had to walk away from her anaesthetised daughter – leaving her on the operating table. It was why she was clutching the doll now. Not because her daughter was pained by the freezing treatment, but because at this very moment her own mum was being put to sleep ready for an operation for breast cancer. Jamaica – bought on holiday in the Caribbean – lived at Jannie’s house. She came out when she was needed to escort an anxious child to hospital or the doctor’s surgery to provide courage and comfort. It was Jannie who needed her the most today, and it was Jannie Mrs Bennet was thinking and praying about at each squirt of the liquid nitrogen.
But Jamaica was soothing Mrs Bennet the most at this moment. Looking at the perfect tropical blue sky outdoors, Mrs Bennet could quite easily imagine being in the “land of wood and water,” where waterfalls, springs, rivers and streams flowed to fertile plains from its forest-clad mountains. The thought of biting into a luscious tropical fruit with a weird and wonderful name or sniffing the tempting aroma of a world-famous Blue Mountain coffee was almost tangible. The latter would probably taste better than Mr Latte. Mrs Bennet had gone off him. He no longer hit the spot. There were issues here too emotional for him to soothe. He could make her feel better about living on a building site, but he couldn’t take away the scary and almost surreal journey her precious mum was now facing. If only a dose of hot frothy milk and a shot of caffeine could make it better. But it couldn’t. It was a long waiting game where there was no control. However Mrs Bennet knew if anyone could walk this new uncertain path with dignity, humour and strength, her mum could.
“Mummy, can I have Jamaica back now please?” asked the small patient leaping off the couch, quickly forgetting her painful toe and bouncing as she normally did in Tigger-like-fashion. This polite request relieved Mrs Bennet's knuckles of their clenching and snapped her back into mother mode.
Back at the almost finished bite-size Pemberley, the rest of the little Bennets were being looked after by friends. The Darcys in the Dirt had incidentally returned that morning, marking the start of the last chapter. They had originally planned to rip the kitchen out that morning, but due to the more pressing operation, had looked kindly on Mrs Bennet and gave her an extra week to pack the cupboard contents into boxes. Instead they were at the bottom of the garden insulating her office.
Now Jamaica’s job had been done, Mrs Bennet did contemplate taking her into hospital to sit at the bottom of her mum’s bed, but thought better of it. Instead she took a handful of home-made cards, the older Miss Bennets had insisted on making, to cheer the patient on. Looking as pale as her blond-streaked hair, Jannie managed a smile. Drained of colour, she was still the beautiful woman they all loved. Her inner strength and positive nature was shining through. And Mrs Bennet knew Jannie was everything Jamaica, the rag doll stood for – heart and courage.
Thursday, 16 April 2009
Wiped out by wet wipes
Thursday, April 16 09
While Mr Bennet was flying at 30,000 feet to Dubai and Miss Emily Bennet was flying on rides round Legoland with a friend, Miss Rosie Bennet was supposed to be having her lunchtime nap. After the usual chit chat and giggles between Spag and Bol, silence had fallen in the little Twin Bennet’s room. Mrs Bennet understandably thought they were both asleep. She was busy making their favourite namesake dish, Spaghetti Bolognese along with a large batch of Shepherd’s Pie, to be frozen ready for hospital visits and operation recovery.
Miss Rosie Bennet didn’t drop off as easily as her sister and being in a playful mood, managed to haul the pack of wet wipes her mother had just opened, through her cot bars. Feeling in the need of a wash, she had proceeded to yank out virtually every wet wipe the packet contained, before falling asleep.
Mrs Bennet found her in a pool of wet wipe juice. Spag’s clothes and bedding were soaking wet and she was surrounded by a cushion of drying out wipes.
“Oh Rosie, what am I going to do with you!” exclaimed Mrs Bennet, scooping up her wet wipe babe with one arm and gathering an armful of soggy white squares with the other.
Amused by the scene, Miss Kezia Bennet pointed her index finger at her sister and giggled infectiously like an animated rocking Bag of Laughter.
Mrs Bennet had no choice but to strip Spag naked. But even with clean clothes, she carried the distinct aroma of a wet wipe. At least she hadn’t got a fetish for eating them. One of her friend’s sons had swallowed a whole one when he was a few months old. She only knew this because she found it rolled up in his nappy deposit the next day!
Although the unpredictable brought the scary, it brought the ridiculous as well. And it was the latter which made the harder issues in life more tolerable. It was the mundane, every day things which kept a mother going. And as wiped out as she was, Mrs Bennet couldn’t help but smile at the comedian in her children. At times she dared to live out the “what if?” she saw in the Miss Bennets. Miss Rosie Bennet now knew what happened when she pulled out 70 wet wipes – she got wet. Mrs Bennet pondered. What if she lived as if there was nothing to worry about? It would make life far more enjoyable. And actually some of the biggies, the sharks which threatened to bite you on the bottom, were often not as bad as the fear of them. Fear had a lot to say for itself. It had a bad report and it was about time the faith part of Mrs Bennet had a greater say. Wiped out she may be in terms of sleep deprivation. Knocked out never.
While Mr Bennet was flying at 30,000 feet to Dubai and Miss Emily Bennet was flying on rides round Legoland with a friend, Miss Rosie Bennet was supposed to be having her lunchtime nap. After the usual chit chat and giggles between Spag and Bol, silence had fallen in the little Twin Bennet’s room. Mrs Bennet understandably thought they were both asleep. She was busy making their favourite namesake dish, Spaghetti Bolognese along with a large batch of Shepherd’s Pie, to be frozen ready for hospital visits and operation recovery.
Miss Rosie Bennet didn’t drop off as easily as her sister and being in a playful mood, managed to haul the pack of wet wipes her mother had just opened, through her cot bars. Feeling in the need of a wash, she had proceeded to yank out virtually every wet wipe the packet contained, before falling asleep.
Mrs Bennet found her in a pool of wet wipe juice. Spag’s clothes and bedding were soaking wet and she was surrounded by a cushion of drying out wipes.
“Oh Rosie, what am I going to do with you!” exclaimed Mrs Bennet, scooping up her wet wipe babe with one arm and gathering an armful of soggy white squares with the other.
Amused by the scene, Miss Kezia Bennet pointed her index finger at her sister and giggled infectiously like an animated rocking Bag of Laughter.
Mrs Bennet had no choice but to strip Spag naked. But even with clean clothes, she carried the distinct aroma of a wet wipe. At least she hadn’t got a fetish for eating them. One of her friend’s sons had swallowed a whole one when he was a few months old. She only knew this because she found it rolled up in his nappy deposit the next day!
Although the unpredictable brought the scary, it brought the ridiculous as well. And it was the latter which made the harder issues in life more tolerable. It was the mundane, every day things which kept a mother going. And as wiped out as she was, Mrs Bennet couldn’t help but smile at the comedian in her children. At times she dared to live out the “what if?” she saw in the Miss Bennets. Miss Rosie Bennet now knew what happened when she pulled out 70 wet wipes – she got wet. Mrs Bennet pondered. What if she lived as if there was nothing to worry about? It would make life far more enjoyable. And actually some of the biggies, the sharks which threatened to bite you on the bottom, were often not as bad as the fear of them. Fear had a lot to say for itself. It had a bad report and it was about time the faith part of Mrs Bennet had a greater say. Wiped out she may be in terms of sleep deprivation. Knocked out never.
Wednesday, 15 April 2009
The Easter Bennet
Sunday, April 12 09
The Easter Bunny sat with an upside-down-chick-basket on his head, reading his newspaper in Mrs Bennet’s empty shed. Chocolate eggs were hidden in the garden and the Easter Bennets were standing patiently behind the lounge door, waiting to be allowed in to start their hunt. It was the simple things in life which often brought the most joy. Children didn’t care about mess, they cared about having fun and sometimes it was the mess which added to the excitement. So the Easter Bunny’s egg collection was hidden in the building site of a garden amongst an abandoned garage door, rubble, various broken bits of pipe, overgrown grass, mud and bricks – oh, and empty coca cola bottles left behind by the Darcys in the Dirt.
Mrs Bennet’s dad, the Easter Bunny sat quite happily in his nesting shed reading the sports pages, but it wasn’t long before the squeals of delight reached him and he was discovered.
Mrs Bennet thought it wise for Miss Bennets Numbers One, Two and Three to complete their hunt before the little Twin Bennets appeared on the scene and gobbled up the treasure. The aim was to gather the eggs up and put them in a corporate basket to be shared out equally later. Mrs Bennet knew Spag and Bol would not give up their chocolate without a fight and instead either crush it into their sticky palms or stuff it into their hungry mouths. They had good taste and could sniff chocolate through two closed doors.
They woke up from their lunch-time nap just as their older siblings embarked on the outside part of the hunt. Like little puppies however they managed to uncover the hidden delights their sisters had missed, and polished up their motor skills by pulling off any golden wrapper to get their prize. Spag managed to get chocolate everywhere, hands, mouth, hair and bottom. Bol had a tiny smear on her lips, but apart from that was immaculately clean.
It was these classic priceless moments of watching her children laughing, her father looking so ridiculous in his silly makeshift hat and observing how proud and happy Mr Bennet and Jannie were at just being there, which made life worthwhile. Easter for the Bennet family hadn’t been easy. The Good Friday atmosphere threatened to drag them all down. When something life-threatening lingered on the horizon it made it hard to remember hope, yet hope was what Easter was all about and the promise of new life.
There was a black cloud over the Bennets. The big C had attacked one of its precious members. Yet her courage, her determination and her love for life was pushing her on in a defeat-less attitude. Emotionally the road was rocky and draining and Mrs Bennet knew the weeks and months ahead were going to be tough for them all. But seeing the laughter, the chocolate feast, the simplicity of an egg hunt and the joy on her children’s faces, helped restore that Easter Sunday hope. Bite-size Pemberley, as incomplete as it was, was now insignificant. It no longer mattered. What mattered was the moment.
The Easter Bunny sat with an upside-down-chick-basket on his head, reading his newspaper in Mrs Bennet’s empty shed. Chocolate eggs were hidden in the garden and the Easter Bennets were standing patiently behind the lounge door, waiting to be allowed in to start their hunt. It was the simple things in life which often brought the most joy. Children didn’t care about mess, they cared about having fun and sometimes it was the mess which added to the excitement. So the Easter Bunny’s egg collection was hidden in the building site of a garden amongst an abandoned garage door, rubble, various broken bits of pipe, overgrown grass, mud and bricks – oh, and empty coca cola bottles left behind by the Darcys in the Dirt.
Mrs Bennet’s dad, the Easter Bunny sat quite happily in his nesting shed reading the sports pages, but it wasn’t long before the squeals of delight reached him and he was discovered.
Mrs Bennet thought it wise for Miss Bennets Numbers One, Two and Three to complete their hunt before the little Twin Bennets appeared on the scene and gobbled up the treasure. The aim was to gather the eggs up and put them in a corporate basket to be shared out equally later. Mrs Bennet knew Spag and Bol would not give up their chocolate without a fight and instead either crush it into their sticky palms or stuff it into their hungry mouths. They had good taste and could sniff chocolate through two closed doors.
They woke up from their lunch-time nap just as their older siblings embarked on the outside part of the hunt. Like little puppies however they managed to uncover the hidden delights their sisters had missed, and polished up their motor skills by pulling off any golden wrapper to get their prize. Spag managed to get chocolate everywhere, hands, mouth, hair and bottom. Bol had a tiny smear on her lips, but apart from that was immaculately clean.
It was these classic priceless moments of watching her children laughing, her father looking so ridiculous in his silly makeshift hat and observing how proud and happy Mr Bennet and Jannie were at just being there, which made life worthwhile. Easter for the Bennet family hadn’t been easy. The Good Friday atmosphere threatened to drag them all down. When something life-threatening lingered on the horizon it made it hard to remember hope, yet hope was what Easter was all about and the promise of new life.
There was a black cloud over the Bennets. The big C had attacked one of its precious members. Yet her courage, her determination and her love for life was pushing her on in a defeat-less attitude. Emotionally the road was rocky and draining and Mrs Bennet knew the weeks and months ahead were going to be tough for them all. But seeing the laughter, the chocolate feast, the simplicity of an egg hunt and the joy on her children’s faces, helped restore that Easter Sunday hope. Bite-size Pemberley, as incomplete as it was, was now insignificant. It no longer mattered. What mattered was the moment.
Thursday, 9 April 2009
"I hate ball pools!" declares Mrs Bennet
Wednesday, April 8 09
There were few things Mrs Bennet disliked but those on her list were loathed with a passion. And ball pools were at the top, followed closely by emptying tea bags from a tea pot.
It was the Easter Holidays. Mr Bennet was meeting someone somewhere in Milan. Mrs Bennet was meeting a fellow mum at her favourite place – the local ball pool. A place she normally avoided like the plague particularly during school holidays. But as it was a birthday party for her friend’s two-year-old, a favourite playmate to Spag and Bol, Mrs Bennet had said yes she would come along. She also knew very well that Miss Bennet Numbers One, Two and Three would be delighted at the prospect of running wild and sliding down death slides. Having spent the night on a cold carpet-less floor sandwiched between the twin’s cots, Mrs Bennet was feeling rather tired, grumpy and lacking in patience. She would quite happily have curled up in a ball in her garden shed. But as that still didn’t have any electrics and therefore no heat, Mrs Bennet didn’t think she had any option but to endure a few hours of high pitched squeals and screams.
Between them Mrs Bennet and her friend had nine children – eight girls and one boy - so it proved quite an expensive visit, and that was without the essential coping fuel of Mr Decaf Latte or Mr Cappuccino. The minute she walked through the doors into a cacophony of shouting, crying and piercing shrills; she knew why ball pools were number one on her Mrs Bennet Dislikes List. Miss Bennet Number Five immediately clung to her hip, threw her tiny arms around her neck and whimpered, making it extremely difficult to negotiate Miss Bennet Number Four round café chairs and tables to the toddler play area. Having been a late walker, it was in fact the first time Bol, alias Miss Kezia Bennet, had been properly introduced to a ball pool. A yellow plastic ball hit her on the chin, and like a ten pin, she wobbled over, quickly grasping her mother’s leg as an anchor in the moving sea of coloured balls. Miss Rosie Bennet, slightly more confident, allowed herself to be lowered into the sea, but feeling out of her depth, immediately shouted to be rescued.
Meanwhile, Miss Bennet Number Three, refusing to take off her glasses and proving she was now a big five, literally flew down the death slide – something Mrs Bennet had never plucked up courage to do. Her children took her to places and heights she never dreamt she’d go. But even though they’d taken her to the edge on several occasions, it was up to her whether she actually wanted to throw herself off. May be when she was 40 she’d do it! She had been up in a balloon, parasailed, rock climbed and abseiled in the past so she wasn’t really a wimp. And she’d just promised another female friend, who turned 40 a few hours before she did that she would go to Alton Towers with her, without children. Knowing how adventurous and adrenaline hungry her mate was, she did wonder whether her pelvic floor would recover. Having said that defying the law of gravity might do it good!
The older two Miss Bennets were lost in the medley of ropes and bodies. But they soon appeared, pink-faced and frazzled; one complaining of slide burn, the other complaining about her sister. She decided to help matters by entering the noise hub, and thinking Spag might like a ride on a bumpy slide, proceeded to push and pull the chubby babe up through holes to the top. It helped one complaining daughter laugh. Clutching on to a slightly scared Miss Bennet Number Four, Mrs Bennet proceeded to descend, unaware the slide had been polished extra well this morning. Miss Bennet Number Two watched in awe as her mother literally took off as she went down the first bump, missed the second bump altogether and landed with a thud on the third, thankfully with Spag still in her arms. Shaken but not stirred, Miss Bennet Number Four looked shocked but smiled at the ordeal. Shaken and stirred, Mrs Bennet, somehow managed to get up, rubbed her sore back and vowed not to do that again - well not today anyway.
Within half an hour emotion was rife. Both twins were crying, the middle Miss Bennet whining her siblings didn’t want to play with her and Miss Bennet Number One was still wincing and rubbing her poorly arm. The four children belonging to her friend were however happily running about and thoroughly enjoying themselves without a moan between them. Mrs Bennet longed for her octopus to come and wipe eyes, soothe wounds and lift them all out of the ball pool and transport them to a place of peace, calm and joy.
Two hours later, the invisible octopus arrived. Four children and a mother were relieved. Miss Bennet Number Two was not and blamed everyone else for pulled her out of the ball jungle before she was ready. Mrs Bennet breathed a sigh of relief, strapped the Miss Bennets in their seats, and put her head on the steering wheel. She then sent a text to her husband, who was child-free in Italy.
“I HATE BALL POOLS! Just thought you might like to know!” she tapped into her phone. After eating a waiter-served Italian meal, accompanied by proper adult conversation, when sentences were finished and food was enjoyed hot, Mr Bennet sent his thoughts on the subject.
“Oh come on, all that screaming and noise, you love it really!”
She did not reply. Instead as Miss Bennet Number Three was due to return to Mrs Bennet’s torture chamber on Saturday for a party, she made up her mind that Mr Bennet would be taking their daughter. He could also remove every tea bag for the next decade as his punishment for flying abroad to a different country three weeks running.
There were few things Mrs Bennet disliked but those on her list were loathed with a passion. And ball pools were at the top, followed closely by emptying tea bags from a tea pot.
It was the Easter Holidays. Mr Bennet was meeting someone somewhere in Milan. Mrs Bennet was meeting a fellow mum at her favourite place – the local ball pool. A place she normally avoided like the plague particularly during school holidays. But as it was a birthday party for her friend’s two-year-old, a favourite playmate to Spag and Bol, Mrs Bennet had said yes she would come along. She also knew very well that Miss Bennet Numbers One, Two and Three would be delighted at the prospect of running wild and sliding down death slides. Having spent the night on a cold carpet-less floor sandwiched between the twin’s cots, Mrs Bennet was feeling rather tired, grumpy and lacking in patience. She would quite happily have curled up in a ball in her garden shed. But as that still didn’t have any electrics and therefore no heat, Mrs Bennet didn’t think she had any option but to endure a few hours of high pitched squeals and screams.
Between them Mrs Bennet and her friend had nine children – eight girls and one boy - so it proved quite an expensive visit, and that was without the essential coping fuel of Mr Decaf Latte or Mr Cappuccino. The minute she walked through the doors into a cacophony of shouting, crying and piercing shrills; she knew why ball pools were number one on her Mrs Bennet Dislikes List. Miss Bennet Number Five immediately clung to her hip, threw her tiny arms around her neck and whimpered, making it extremely difficult to negotiate Miss Bennet Number Four round café chairs and tables to the toddler play area. Having been a late walker, it was in fact the first time Bol, alias Miss Kezia Bennet, had been properly introduced to a ball pool. A yellow plastic ball hit her on the chin, and like a ten pin, she wobbled over, quickly grasping her mother’s leg as an anchor in the moving sea of coloured balls. Miss Rosie Bennet, slightly more confident, allowed herself to be lowered into the sea, but feeling out of her depth, immediately shouted to be rescued.
Meanwhile, Miss Bennet Number Three, refusing to take off her glasses and proving she was now a big five, literally flew down the death slide – something Mrs Bennet had never plucked up courage to do. Her children took her to places and heights she never dreamt she’d go. But even though they’d taken her to the edge on several occasions, it was up to her whether she actually wanted to throw herself off. May be when she was 40 she’d do it! She had been up in a balloon, parasailed, rock climbed and abseiled in the past so she wasn’t really a wimp. And she’d just promised another female friend, who turned 40 a few hours before she did that she would go to Alton Towers with her, without children. Knowing how adventurous and adrenaline hungry her mate was, she did wonder whether her pelvic floor would recover. Having said that defying the law of gravity might do it good!
The older two Miss Bennets were lost in the medley of ropes and bodies. But they soon appeared, pink-faced and frazzled; one complaining of slide burn, the other complaining about her sister. She decided to help matters by entering the noise hub, and thinking Spag might like a ride on a bumpy slide, proceeded to push and pull the chubby babe up through holes to the top. It helped one complaining daughter laugh. Clutching on to a slightly scared Miss Bennet Number Four, Mrs Bennet proceeded to descend, unaware the slide had been polished extra well this morning. Miss Bennet Number Two watched in awe as her mother literally took off as she went down the first bump, missed the second bump altogether and landed with a thud on the third, thankfully with Spag still in her arms. Shaken but not stirred, Miss Bennet Number Four looked shocked but smiled at the ordeal. Shaken and stirred, Mrs Bennet, somehow managed to get up, rubbed her sore back and vowed not to do that again - well not today anyway.
Within half an hour emotion was rife. Both twins were crying, the middle Miss Bennet whining her siblings didn’t want to play with her and Miss Bennet Number One was still wincing and rubbing her poorly arm. The four children belonging to her friend were however happily running about and thoroughly enjoying themselves without a moan between them. Mrs Bennet longed for her octopus to come and wipe eyes, soothe wounds and lift them all out of the ball pool and transport them to a place of peace, calm and joy.
Two hours later, the invisible octopus arrived. Four children and a mother were relieved. Miss Bennet Number Two was not and blamed everyone else for pulled her out of the ball jungle before she was ready. Mrs Bennet breathed a sigh of relief, strapped the Miss Bennets in their seats, and put her head on the steering wheel. She then sent a text to her husband, who was child-free in Italy.
“I HATE BALL POOLS! Just thought you might like to know!” she tapped into her phone. After eating a waiter-served Italian meal, accompanied by proper adult conversation, when sentences were finished and food was enjoyed hot, Mr Bennet sent his thoughts on the subject.
“Oh come on, all that screaming and noise, you love it really!”
She did not reply. Instead as Miss Bennet Number Three was due to return to Mrs Bennet’s torture chamber on Saturday for a party, she made up her mind that Mr Bennet would be taking their daughter. He could also remove every tea bag for the next decade as his punishment for flying abroad to a different country three weeks running.
Saturday, 4 April 2009
That tooth fairy again...
Thursday, April 2 09
“She didn’t come Mummy,” declared a very forlorn Miss Bennet Number Two as she emerged from her quilt cocoon.
“Who didn’t?” mumbled a half-asleep Mrs Bennet, grateful her friend had just rung her mobile to act as a wake-up call.
“The tooth fairy. She didn’t leave me anything and she didn’t take my tooth either,” replied her toothless daughter.
Mrs Bennet inwardly kicked herself. Emotionally she wasn't yet ready to write about it but life was so surreal right now, the tooth fairy obviously had her mind on other matters and as the male tooth fairy was away on business abroad, he hadn’t reminded his companion to fetch the all-important molar.
“I remember when I was a little girl that the tooth fairy forgot to visit me one night, so I put the tooth back under my pillow and she ended up giving me double the money the next. So don’t worry,” replied Mrs Bennet.
Mr Bennet was in Lyon. Next week he was flying to Milan and the following week he was heading off to Dubai. He was probably doing more mileage than the Bennet tooth fairy. This morning it was lucky the children were awake. Mrs Bennet had forgotten to put her own alarm clock forward an hour. It suddenly made all the little Bennets jump when it sprang into action at 8.20am. It was just as well Mrs Bennet’s friend had called. She knew mornings were not Mrs Bennet’s strong point.
Meanwhile bite-size Pemberley was still not finished. The lounge was currently out of action due to a face-lift operation, leaving nowhere for Spag and Bol to play - although they would have quite happily have reenacted sword fights with paintbrushes smothered in turps if allowed. With their playground out of bounds it meant Mrs Bennet had to time it so she arrived back at the house ready for their lunch-time nap, get them up promptly at 2.50pm and out of the door to pick their sisters up from school.
Right now though her priority, as well as clearing the lounge, getting two nappies on two bottoms, clothes on six bodies, five heads of hair brushed (hers just warranted a bit of gel), finding twelve matching shoes and socks, three book bags, three lunch boxes, a nappy bag with adequate supplies and a set of car keys, was to fix the tooth fairy issue. Miraculously a coin appeared on the front door, stuck there by a piece of Sellotape.
It was Miss Bennet Number Three who discovered it.
“Mummy, what’s that on the door?!” she inquired.
“I don’t know love, ask Emily.” To which toothless Miss Bennet Number Two was quickly summoned to the front door and asked to examine the mysterious object.
“Look Mummy, she did come after all but obviously ran out of time and didn’t get chance to take my tooth!” declared a delighted daughter.
“Perhaps with all the building work, she was too scared to go upstairs afraid the builders were still there,” replied Mrs Bennet.
“I’m still going to leave my tooth under my pillow to see if she comes back for it, “said the toothless one.
Following the sad saga of her own tooth problem in the summer, the pain had returned which her new dentist (the young dishy Darcy one had left) had informed her this week was in fact an abscess. There was no chance of saving the tooth and it would have to come out. Mrs Bennet did wonder whether the tooth fairy would visit her when the time came and perhaps leave £30,000 so they could finish bite-size Pemberley as originally intended. She could but wish.
As the male tooth fairy had returned from Lyon, she prodded him at 1am and asked him to kindly go and see to the tiny tooth which lay underneath a top bunk pillow. As he did so, Spag, Miss Bennet Number Four, cried out. While her elder sister had lost her baby tooth, hers was coming in and she didn’t like it too much. Mrs Bennet didn’t like the pain hers was causing either, so grabbed a pain killer, rolled over and dreamt about drills.
“She didn’t come Mummy,” declared a very forlorn Miss Bennet Number Two as she emerged from her quilt cocoon.
“Who didn’t?” mumbled a half-asleep Mrs Bennet, grateful her friend had just rung her mobile to act as a wake-up call.
“The tooth fairy. She didn’t leave me anything and she didn’t take my tooth either,” replied her toothless daughter.
Mrs Bennet inwardly kicked herself. Emotionally she wasn't yet ready to write about it but life was so surreal right now, the tooth fairy obviously had her mind on other matters and as the male tooth fairy was away on business abroad, he hadn’t reminded his companion to fetch the all-important molar.
“I remember when I was a little girl that the tooth fairy forgot to visit me one night, so I put the tooth back under my pillow and she ended up giving me double the money the next. So don’t worry,” replied Mrs Bennet.
Mr Bennet was in Lyon. Next week he was flying to Milan and the following week he was heading off to Dubai. He was probably doing more mileage than the Bennet tooth fairy. This morning it was lucky the children were awake. Mrs Bennet had forgotten to put her own alarm clock forward an hour. It suddenly made all the little Bennets jump when it sprang into action at 8.20am. It was just as well Mrs Bennet’s friend had called. She knew mornings were not Mrs Bennet’s strong point.
Meanwhile bite-size Pemberley was still not finished. The lounge was currently out of action due to a face-lift operation, leaving nowhere for Spag and Bol to play - although they would have quite happily have reenacted sword fights with paintbrushes smothered in turps if allowed. With their playground out of bounds it meant Mrs Bennet had to time it so she arrived back at the house ready for their lunch-time nap, get them up promptly at 2.50pm and out of the door to pick their sisters up from school.
Right now though her priority, as well as clearing the lounge, getting two nappies on two bottoms, clothes on six bodies, five heads of hair brushed (hers just warranted a bit of gel), finding twelve matching shoes and socks, three book bags, three lunch boxes, a nappy bag with adequate supplies and a set of car keys, was to fix the tooth fairy issue. Miraculously a coin appeared on the front door, stuck there by a piece of Sellotape.
It was Miss Bennet Number Three who discovered it.
“Mummy, what’s that on the door?!” she inquired.
“I don’t know love, ask Emily.” To which toothless Miss Bennet Number Two was quickly summoned to the front door and asked to examine the mysterious object.
“Look Mummy, she did come after all but obviously ran out of time and didn’t get chance to take my tooth!” declared a delighted daughter.
“Perhaps with all the building work, she was too scared to go upstairs afraid the builders were still there,” replied Mrs Bennet.
“I’m still going to leave my tooth under my pillow to see if she comes back for it, “said the toothless one.
Following the sad saga of her own tooth problem in the summer, the pain had returned which her new dentist (the young dishy Darcy one had left) had informed her this week was in fact an abscess. There was no chance of saving the tooth and it would have to come out. Mrs Bennet did wonder whether the tooth fairy would visit her when the time came and perhaps leave £30,000 so they could finish bite-size Pemberley as originally intended. She could but wish.
As the male tooth fairy had returned from Lyon, she prodded him at 1am and asked him to kindly go and see to the tiny tooth which lay underneath a top bunk pillow. As he did so, Spag, Miss Bennet Number Four, cried out. While her elder sister had lost her baby tooth, hers was coming in and she didn’t like it too much. Mrs Bennet didn’t like the pain hers was causing either, so grabbed a pain killer, rolled over and dreamt about drills.
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