A pledge not to leave a daughter behind

Saturday, January 1st 2011

“I, Mrs. Bennet do solemnly declare that I will in 2011 count all my children in, and count them all out. That way I will ensure I don’t leave any one of the five Miss Bennets behind, whatever the word behind might refer to at that given time. I will also make a better effort not to lose my car keys and instead put them back on their hook so that last minute panics don’t occur. Oh and I promise to put at least one photo in an album this coming year.” Signed Mrs. Bennet.
So it had come to this: writing promises and pledges to her children. Whether it was for her benefit or for theirs she wasn’t quite sure. But one thing she did know was that it did have a little something to do with guilt. It was ever since Mr. Bennet came home one Tuesday night and discovered that one of the little Miss Twin Bennets was missing. Mrs. Bennet had been in the kitchen, trying desperately to produce something vaguely edible that her daughters would eat without wriggling up their noses, pulling a distorted face and inquiring “what is it?” and then declaring that they didn’t like “it,” and would not be eating their tea. Mrs. Bennet had not been in a good mood that evening. One of the older Miss Bennets had been rude, downright stubborn and had refused to do what she was told. It meant precious time had been lost and Mrs. Bennet had 20 minutes to feed five hungry mouths and leave with the eldest child for the next Bennet appointment – and there were many in her household. They had been to a ballet lesson, but due to rebellion in the camp, the lesson wasn’t completed and tantrums had caused an embarrassed Mrs. Bennet to leave in somewhat lower spirits than she had arrived. In her upset, she had forgotten her arithmetic, so when Mr. Bennet, who was much better in the maths department than herself, arrived, he was able to notice that the sum of daughters didn’t quite add up.
“Where’s Rosie?” he asked.
“What do you mean? Playing with her people I expect,” answered Mrs. Bennet, realising that she hadn’t been asked for a drink or food from her eldest twin for almost half an hour.
She joined her husband in the hunt for the missing child. Being busy in the kitchen and leaving the children to play quietly and happily, Mrs.Bennet had wrongly assumed all were present. As not one child had noticed that the dark-haired Miss Bennet Number Four or her well-chewed bunny with its heart-shaped patch covering the hole on his bottom weren’t in the house, Mrs. Bennet hadn’t had cause to worry – until now.
“But she’s not been out of my sight!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, her voice beginning to shake and the insides of her stomach starting to churn as she tried desperately to recall every movement Rosie had made. She ran outside and opened the car door, peered in and closed it again. Now she was panicking. Her mind blank, her heart racing, she turned to her husband in desperation.
“I don’t know where she is and I don’t know what to do!”
Frantic minutes of rushing around the house, searching and calling followed. In the midst of her own turmoil, Mrs.Bennet stopped and prayed. In the only second of calm, she decided to have another look in the Scooby Doo Van, where on sliding the door, she found crouched in a tight ball in the footwell between the second row and third row car seats with Rabbit held firmly in her hand, was the missing child.
“Rosie! I’m so sorry love. Come here!” Not giving her daughter a chance to reply, Mrs.. Bennet embraced her in a huge hug, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Oh Rosie, I thought we’d lost you.”
“I did call you Mummy but you didn’t hear me!”
So that was why Mrs. Bennet was now promising to count her children in and out. In the stress of dealing with a rather stubborn nine-year-old, she had failed to move the back seat and pull her first twin out.
Mrs. Bennet knew she was not a perfect mother, but she did love her daughters, even if they did push her to limits and test her patience. And she also knew how easy it was to get distracted by one her little people. Between 4pm and 6.30pm – before Mr. Bennet arrived home – was often a time when World War III took place. It was the period when she frequently longed to grow wings and fly off to a make-believe place where the words conflict, disobedience and rebellion didn’t exist. A hot soothing Mr. Latte often helped but just didn’t last long enough.
So here she was in 2011. A year when three of her offspring would be starting new schools – the eldest off to secondary and the youngest two joining the sea of green uniforms at primary. She decided with so many labels to sew on, she had better order them now and get working. That way she might also remember her children’s names. There was nothing worse when going to tell a child off than using the wrong name and having to go through all five to get to the right one. It under-minded your authority somewhat.
And so with an era of nappy changing behind her, luke-warm coffee in hand, Mrs. Bennet stumbled into 2011, knowing it would be a year of military operations, time-table schedules, taxi driving, refereeing, cooking and attempting to remember where each child was each day. She would endeavour to ensure each got home safely and weren’t left anywhere. After all if she did it again, her daughters might hold it against her in her old age, and forget to look after her when she needed it.