Monday, July 28 2008
The smell of stale pancake hit Mrs Bennet that morning as she stumbled into the kitchen half asleep. She hadn’t even had chance to open her eyes properly and despite requests for breakfast as her children spotted her, she attempted to reach cereal boxes. Crunching coco pops onto the cold stone floor, as they fell out of one of the boxes, Mrs Bennet felt nauseas as the pancake aroma brought her to life. She now equated pancakes with her large family, after finding a quote in a library book.
“Pancakes are like big families. It doesn’t matter if the first one doesn’t come out quite right, because there’s more to follow!”
She didn’t consider any of her children a flopped pancake. If cooking was anything to go by, a pancake did what it wanted, often had a mind of its own and sometimes needed a bit of help to get out of the pan.
“I suppose if you think about it, they are like children then,” she pondered, wondering where her mind was going. An hour later, Mrs Bennet thought she had pressed a button and had been transported to 2018 because the behaviour she was witnessing resembled that of three stroppy teenagers, who were obviously struggling with that time-of-the-month. She was sure she didn’t show these moody swings at such a young age. Thirteen maybe, but not four, six and eight!
Much as she’d prefer to leave them all in the car, she decided she had better get them out in the fresh air. A run around in the park might settle them and separate them. Mrs Bennet was right. After half an hour’s play, the time machine took her and the children back to 2008. The children, like pancakes, had become edible and sweet. The little twin Bennets however, saw it as their cue to cry.
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Paddies and pancakes
Sunday, July 27 08
Next-door’s cat decided to investigate the Bennet picnic basket, which meant the picnic rug was now empty of little Bennets, leaving Mrs Bennet with the food and noone to share it with. Due to the pleasant spell of hot weather, Mrs Bennet decided it was a good idea to eat “al fresco”, and with the promise of the paddling pool for after-lunch entertainment, the three older Miss Bennets agreed. The younger Bennets had no choice in the matter, they were in their cots asleep.
Having left Mr Bennet with all five children for an hour, she felt it only right to at least take the older three Miss Bennets – the ones who were regularly polishing their answering-back skills – out with her for a walk. They had been badgering Mrs Bennet to let them take her to a place called The Heavens, where Miss Naomi Bennet had been for a birthday picnic with one of her school friends. The name sounded so appealing, Mrs Bennet decided that yes, she would like to go to The Heavens especially if there was a swimming pool and glass of Pimms on offer. It was more wisdom on her part, or was it to steady her poor nerves that she called a mature friend to ask if she wanted to join them. Mr Bennet would have quite happily let the children lead his wife off into the unknown, but she, knowing the potential for strops, grazes and the “I’m tired,” decided to call for reinforcement. How right she was. The first half an hour was perfect, a leisurely stroll through cemetery, lane and woodlands brought them into a clearing, which was as the name suggests, just heavenly and beautifully untouched. Happy to play in the stream, move a few pebbles, find sticks to write in the mud and nibble on emergency rations in Mrs Bennet’s rucksack, all was well. That was until Miss Naomi Bennet discovered the rope swing in the impressive Oak tree had swung its last and was wrapped around a branch too high for any adult to reach. The whimpering started. She was looking forward to having a swing and it was hard to put right such disappointment. She was momentarily distracted by her simple writing implement, a thin pointed stick which made the ideal pencil. Proud of this find, she popped it in her collecting tray, along with a piece of bark, which Mrs Bennet had suggested might make a good rubbing with crayons. The moaning temporarily appeased, the five of them proceeded on their walk. Another 15 minutes later, Mrs Bennet discovered what would become the catalyst of the walk’s downfall.
“Look girls, I do believe I’ve found a swing with a seat to sit on. There you are it was worth coming after all,” she explained cheerfully, grateful of her find.
However, although all three girls eagerly had a go, because Mrs Bennet refused to stay as long as they would have liked, the protests began. And in the process of getting on the said swing, Miss Naomi Bennet lost her precious stick pencil, blamed her mother for making her get on the swing in the first place and proceeded to gripe and groan in time with her stamping feet.
“It’s all your fault! You just don’t care about me. I’m going back to find it. That was a really special to me,” said the feet’s voice, promptly turning round and strutting off in the opposite direction. Mrs Bennet kept walking and couldn’t resist shouting back: “See you tomorrow then!”
She recognised what her daughter was suffering from was emotional flooding, a condition where emotion was so strong, like flood water it reached high levels. In Miss Bennet’s case the level rose above the ears, which meant any attempts to reason with her couldn’t be heard. Until the waters dropped, there was no point in arguing. Her younger siblings did it for her.
“No, Mummy! We can’t go home without Naomi! You can’t leave her here!” Mrs Bennet tried whispering reassurances to them, but these were drowned out by their sister, who, realising no one was following her, had made a U-turn, but wasn’t quiet about doing so. Mrs Bennet stole a smile with her friend, grateful to have an adult to share the moment. Thirty minutes of crying was rather draining, but somehow they managed to get home, with the Miss Bennets two and three looking out for pointed sticks to present to Miss Bennet One once the flooding had resided.
Tossing a pancake within 20 minutes of arriving at the Bennet household, Mrs Bennet wondered why she was doing such a hot activity when temperatures outside were reaching 80 degrees. Mr Bennet also wondered.
“Why are you making pancakes my dear Mrs Bennet?” he questioned bemused.
“It’s because when we were walking down a steep hill on our way home, we had to avoid the pancakes or cow pats, and the children asked if they could have them for tea! It’s called the seefood diet, they see, get a picture and want it. In this case they saw chocolate coloured cowpats and immediately thought of pancakes with sugar, lemon and Golden Syrup came to mind. That’s children for you!” she replied.
“And that’s mothers for you, to carry out their requests!” mumbled Mr Bennet, as a pancake missed the pan and hit him on the head.
Next-door’s cat decided to investigate the Bennet picnic basket, which meant the picnic rug was now empty of little Bennets, leaving Mrs Bennet with the food and noone to share it with. Due to the pleasant spell of hot weather, Mrs Bennet decided it was a good idea to eat “al fresco”, and with the promise of the paddling pool for after-lunch entertainment, the three older Miss Bennets agreed. The younger Bennets had no choice in the matter, they were in their cots asleep.
Having left Mr Bennet with all five children for an hour, she felt it only right to at least take the older three Miss Bennets – the ones who were regularly polishing their answering-back skills – out with her for a walk. They had been badgering Mrs Bennet to let them take her to a place called The Heavens, where Miss Naomi Bennet had been for a birthday picnic with one of her school friends. The name sounded so appealing, Mrs Bennet decided that yes, she would like to go to The Heavens especially if there was a swimming pool and glass of Pimms on offer. It was more wisdom on her part, or was it to steady her poor nerves that she called a mature friend to ask if she wanted to join them. Mr Bennet would have quite happily let the children lead his wife off into the unknown, but she, knowing the potential for strops, grazes and the “I’m tired,” decided to call for reinforcement. How right she was. The first half an hour was perfect, a leisurely stroll through cemetery, lane and woodlands brought them into a clearing, which was as the name suggests, just heavenly and beautifully untouched. Happy to play in the stream, move a few pebbles, find sticks to write in the mud and nibble on emergency rations in Mrs Bennet’s rucksack, all was well. That was until Miss Naomi Bennet discovered the rope swing in the impressive Oak tree had swung its last and was wrapped around a branch too high for any adult to reach. The whimpering started. She was looking forward to having a swing and it was hard to put right such disappointment. She was momentarily distracted by her simple writing implement, a thin pointed stick which made the ideal pencil. Proud of this find, she popped it in her collecting tray, along with a piece of bark, which Mrs Bennet had suggested might make a good rubbing with crayons. The moaning temporarily appeased, the five of them proceeded on their walk. Another 15 minutes later, Mrs Bennet discovered what would become the catalyst of the walk’s downfall.
“Look girls, I do believe I’ve found a swing with a seat to sit on. There you are it was worth coming after all,” she explained cheerfully, grateful of her find.
However, although all three girls eagerly had a go, because Mrs Bennet refused to stay as long as they would have liked, the protests began. And in the process of getting on the said swing, Miss Naomi Bennet lost her precious stick pencil, blamed her mother for making her get on the swing in the first place and proceeded to gripe and groan in time with her stamping feet.
“It’s all your fault! You just don’t care about me. I’m going back to find it. That was a really special to me,” said the feet’s voice, promptly turning round and strutting off in the opposite direction. Mrs Bennet kept walking and couldn’t resist shouting back: “See you tomorrow then!”
She recognised what her daughter was suffering from was emotional flooding, a condition where emotion was so strong, like flood water it reached high levels. In Miss Bennet’s case the level rose above the ears, which meant any attempts to reason with her couldn’t be heard. Until the waters dropped, there was no point in arguing. Her younger siblings did it for her.
“No, Mummy! We can’t go home without Naomi! You can’t leave her here!” Mrs Bennet tried whispering reassurances to them, but these were drowned out by their sister, who, realising no one was following her, had made a U-turn, but wasn’t quiet about doing so. Mrs Bennet stole a smile with her friend, grateful to have an adult to share the moment. Thirty minutes of crying was rather draining, but somehow they managed to get home, with the Miss Bennets two and three looking out for pointed sticks to present to Miss Bennet One once the flooding had resided.
Tossing a pancake within 20 minutes of arriving at the Bennet household, Mrs Bennet wondered why she was doing such a hot activity when temperatures outside were reaching 80 degrees. Mr Bennet also wondered.
“Why are you making pancakes my dear Mrs Bennet?” he questioned bemused.
“It’s because when we were walking down a steep hill on our way home, we had to avoid the pancakes or cow pats, and the children asked if they could have them for tea! It’s called the seefood diet, they see, get a picture and want it. In this case they saw chocolate coloured cowpats and immediately thought of pancakes with sugar, lemon and Golden Syrup came to mind. That’s children for you!” she replied.
“And that’s mothers for you, to carry out their requests!” mumbled Mr Bennet, as a pancake missed the pan and hit him on the head.
Why don't men look at ground level?
Saturday, July 26 08
Mrs Bennet used to consider Saturday her favourite day of the week. That was when she was younger and had no responsibilities. Then Sunday afternoon had been the worse part, usually when Songs of Praise was on. Not that she had anything against the programme, it was the fact it represented the eve before Monday, which either meant back to studying or work, depending whether she was in her teens or twenties. As she was approaching the last year of her thirties, it was Saturday she dreaded most. Now this might seem odd, but it was all down to false expectations.
“You’d think I’d be pleased it was the weekend – quality family time and all that. Only it doesn’t always work like that,” she thought.
In theory Saturday represented a day when there should be four hands to the children’s ten. Mr Bennet was home, but unlike his ability to leave his work hat behind, Mrs Bennet found she hardly took hers off. And instead of clearing up after her five offspring, she discovered there were size 8 shoes to pick up, shirts to put away and another body to make more mess.
“Why is that men don’t seem to look at floor level. They look ahead of them, but the fact a headless doll or a marble is next to their foot, they can’t seem to see it!” she muttered.
Mr Bennet, who was by nature laid back, was able to read a paper, watch football and not be disturbed by the growing mound of toys around him. This only served to make Mrs Bennet cross. She liked to see at least one clear spot, even if it was a corner in her kitchen. But she couldn’t fault Mr Bennet as he appreciated she needed some child-free time and would send her out of the house into the arms of Mr Latte. Often Mrs Bennet would go for a run round the block or take herself off and read a newspaper just because she could. What she read was irrelevant. It was a break. But the only trouble was returning to a house completely cluttered by every book, brick, felt tip, baby toy, toast crumbs and spilt drinks only served to take away any good the break had achieved.
Mrs Bennet would just give her husband the look and walk upstairs. His cue to get the children to help put some of it away, because he knew if they didn’t the vacuum cleaner would come out and do the work for them!
But today, Saturday July 26th was different. Why, she couldn’t quite decide. Perhaps it’s because she was so used to having all five girls home that Saturday was no longer a contrast to the week days when they were at school.
“This is one benefit to the summer holidays. The house is such a mess anyway, the usual carpet chaos on a Saturday doesn’t annoy me, because it can’t get much worse. For once I choose to enjoy my break and NOT let the house bother me,” she decided.
“And anyway, if I don’t get used to mess now, I will by October when the builder moves in!”
She tried to dismiss the truth of what she just said with a laugh. Because really she felt quite overwhelmed by the whole process and for now, just getting through the summer holidays was enough. But at least she had survived the first week – just!
Mrs Bennet used to consider Saturday her favourite day of the week. That was when she was younger and had no responsibilities. Then Sunday afternoon had been the worse part, usually when Songs of Praise was on. Not that she had anything against the programme, it was the fact it represented the eve before Monday, which either meant back to studying or work, depending whether she was in her teens or twenties. As she was approaching the last year of her thirties, it was Saturday she dreaded most. Now this might seem odd, but it was all down to false expectations.
“You’d think I’d be pleased it was the weekend – quality family time and all that. Only it doesn’t always work like that,” she thought.
In theory Saturday represented a day when there should be four hands to the children’s ten. Mr Bennet was home, but unlike his ability to leave his work hat behind, Mrs Bennet found she hardly took hers off. And instead of clearing up after her five offspring, she discovered there were size 8 shoes to pick up, shirts to put away and another body to make more mess.
“Why is that men don’t seem to look at floor level. They look ahead of them, but the fact a headless doll or a marble is next to their foot, they can’t seem to see it!” she muttered.
Mr Bennet, who was by nature laid back, was able to read a paper, watch football and not be disturbed by the growing mound of toys around him. This only served to make Mrs Bennet cross. She liked to see at least one clear spot, even if it was a corner in her kitchen. But she couldn’t fault Mr Bennet as he appreciated she needed some child-free time and would send her out of the house into the arms of Mr Latte. Often Mrs Bennet would go for a run round the block or take herself off and read a newspaper just because she could. What she read was irrelevant. It was a break. But the only trouble was returning to a house completely cluttered by every book, brick, felt tip, baby toy, toast crumbs and spilt drinks only served to take away any good the break had achieved.
Mrs Bennet would just give her husband the look and walk upstairs. His cue to get the children to help put some of it away, because he knew if they didn’t the vacuum cleaner would come out and do the work for them!
But today, Saturday July 26th was different. Why, she couldn’t quite decide. Perhaps it’s because she was so used to having all five girls home that Saturday was no longer a contrast to the week days when they were at school.
“This is one benefit to the summer holidays. The house is such a mess anyway, the usual carpet chaos on a Saturday doesn’t annoy me, because it can’t get much worse. For once I choose to enjoy my break and NOT let the house bother me,” she decided.
“And anyway, if I don’t get used to mess now, I will by October when the builder moves in!”
She tried to dismiss the truth of what she just said with a laugh. Because really she felt quite overwhelmed by the whole process and for now, just getting through the summer holidays was enough. But at least she had survived the first week – just!
I am not amused
Friday, July 25 08
Mrs Bennet got stressed in public. She hadn’t intended to, but having worked late into the night to meet a writing deadline, she was feeling tired. The children always seemed to play up to her weaknesses and they were doing so in such style, she knew she was losing the battle. They seemed to take either turns to have an off day or decide to have one together. Yesterday had been the turn of Miss Megan Bennet, who struggling to share her Mummy with her elder two sisters, was doing her best to gain attention of the wrong sort. Today it was Mrs Bennet’s turn. She didn’t find the runaway bottom funny despite her offspring singing back to her the very song line she had sung yesterday in jest.
“The runaway bottom crawled out of the room and it blew….” Really what she needed was to crawl away herself, preferably in a dark room. Her own mother tried to help by taking Miss Megan Bennet to her toddler dance class, and appealing to the elder Miss Bennets to help, managed to get the four remaining Bennets to the supermarket to buy some essentials. It was too busy, she couldn’t remember what she needed, and she’s mistimed it all so the twin Bennets were crying for their lunch. There was no room in the coffee shop to park herself, so the older two Bennets were upset and she was fed up. She hated showing signs of stress in public, but today she just couldn’t help it. Mrs Bennet just wanted to get home – and quickly. As much as she would have liked to have been soothed by Mr Latte, Mrs Bennet knew even he couldn’t help today.
“Mr dear Mr Latte, you wouldn’t know where to start. Best not to see you today, I wouldn’t enjoy your company,” she whispered silently.
Once home, her peace returned, and she found the strength to walk her elder two girls into town to watch a film at the cinema. Normally Mrs Bennet could turn off, but half way through she realised she hadn’t turned her slow cooker on. If had just been for the Bennet family she wouldn’t have worried, but she was cooking for friends. It did of course all work out, the food was edible, the children were quiet, the company good – and the wine fantastic.
Mrs Bennet got stressed in public. She hadn’t intended to, but having worked late into the night to meet a writing deadline, she was feeling tired. The children always seemed to play up to her weaknesses and they were doing so in such style, she knew she was losing the battle. They seemed to take either turns to have an off day or decide to have one together. Yesterday had been the turn of Miss Megan Bennet, who struggling to share her Mummy with her elder two sisters, was doing her best to gain attention of the wrong sort. Today it was Mrs Bennet’s turn. She didn’t find the runaway bottom funny despite her offspring singing back to her the very song line she had sung yesterday in jest.
“The runaway bottom crawled out of the room and it blew….” Really what she needed was to crawl away herself, preferably in a dark room. Her own mother tried to help by taking Miss Megan Bennet to her toddler dance class, and appealing to the elder Miss Bennets to help, managed to get the four remaining Bennets to the supermarket to buy some essentials. It was too busy, she couldn’t remember what she needed, and she’s mistimed it all so the twin Bennets were crying for their lunch. There was no room in the coffee shop to park herself, so the older two Bennets were upset and she was fed up. She hated showing signs of stress in public, but today she just couldn’t help it. Mrs Bennet just wanted to get home – and quickly. As much as she would have liked to have been soothed by Mr Latte, Mrs Bennet knew even he couldn’t help today.
“Mr dear Mr Latte, you wouldn’t know where to start. Best not to see you today, I wouldn’t enjoy your company,” she whispered silently.
Once home, her peace returned, and she found the strength to walk her elder two girls into town to watch a film at the cinema. Normally Mrs Bennet could turn off, but half way through she realised she hadn’t turned her slow cooker on. If had just been for the Bennet family she wouldn’t have worried, but she was cooking for friends. It did of course all work out, the food was edible, the children were quiet, the company good – and the wine fantastic.
The Runaway Bottom
Thursday, July 24 08
Mrs Bennet was pleased. She had insisted that her elder daughter, Miss Naomi Bennet should face her fear of dogs and come with her to her exercise class. Yes it meant sitting on the sofa in close proximity to a tiny dog, but Miss Bennet had stuck it out and was rather pleased with herself for doing so and so was Mrs Bennet. To be honest it was an achievement she had got all five girls there in the first place.
Miss Rosie Bennet, who was rather a speedy crawler, was too quick for her mother. As soon as her nappy was off the bare bottom crawled away leaving a frustrated Mrs Bennet crawling after it before any accidents occurred. Miss Bennet Number Four thought this was highly amusing and only sought to do this more, much to the amusement of the other Miss Bennets!
But after tightening her assets this morning, Mrs Bennet felt better and found it far easier to cope with her children, a trip to the park, a picnic, designing treasure maps in the local museum and cooking tea. How she got through the day – which was unusually hot – without collapsing she didn’t know. But she did and her reward – half an hour with Mr Latte even before she had had a proper conversation with her own dear husband.
Mrs Bennet was pleased. She had insisted that her elder daughter, Miss Naomi Bennet should face her fear of dogs and come with her to her exercise class. Yes it meant sitting on the sofa in close proximity to a tiny dog, but Miss Bennet had stuck it out and was rather pleased with herself for doing so and so was Mrs Bennet. To be honest it was an achievement she had got all five girls there in the first place.
Miss Rosie Bennet, who was rather a speedy crawler, was too quick for her mother. As soon as her nappy was off the bare bottom crawled away leaving a frustrated Mrs Bennet crawling after it before any accidents occurred. Miss Bennet Number Four thought this was highly amusing and only sought to do this more, much to the amusement of the other Miss Bennets!
But after tightening her assets this morning, Mrs Bennet felt better and found it far easier to cope with her children, a trip to the park, a picnic, designing treasure maps in the local museum and cooking tea. How she got through the day – which was unusually hot – without collapsing she didn’t know. But she did and her reward – half an hour with Mr Latte even before she had had a proper conversation with her own dear husband.
Monday, 28 July 2008
Introducing Mr Latte
Wednesday, July 23 08
Miss Rosie Bennet took her first steps today, surprising herself. Mrs Bennet was in her friend’s living room when her elder twin suddenly stood up, balanced for a few seconds and decided to head towards her mother. It was almost a little run of five steps and she was clearly proud of herself for doing so.
Reflecting on this milestone, Mrs Bennet felt it counter-acted the harder elements of the day. She hadn’t even had time to meet up with her precious friend, who she decided to refer to affectionately as Mr Latte. If Jane Austen could have a leading man in her book, so could she. But unlike Mr Darcy, Mr Latte didn’t show any pride or prejudice. His only competition was Mr Decaf Cappuccino, with whom Mrs Bennet was also well acquainted.
She had broken her own rules today and crammed in too much and she was feeling the brunt of it. Perhaps foolishly she had agreed to a writing commission for a well-known magazine, which had to be written within three days. As she was caring for five children all day, it meant any intellectual thinking had to be reserved for late evening – which she knew was a time when she would prefer to curl up on the sofa with a glass of ice-cold white wine.
As it happened Mr Bennet also had a deadline to meet. So the two of them hammered away on computer keys – he in the conservatory, she in the lounge.
Handing him a coffee at midnight – not the healthiest option, but essential in keeping the eyes open, she muttered: “You in your small corner and I in mine.”
The trouble was the two corners hardly met. But she at least took comfort in the fact the corners were at least in the same house.
Miss Rosie Bennet took her first steps today, surprising herself. Mrs Bennet was in her friend’s living room when her elder twin suddenly stood up, balanced for a few seconds and decided to head towards her mother. It was almost a little run of five steps and she was clearly proud of herself for doing so.
Reflecting on this milestone, Mrs Bennet felt it counter-acted the harder elements of the day. She hadn’t even had time to meet up with her precious friend, who she decided to refer to affectionately as Mr Latte. If Jane Austen could have a leading man in her book, so could she. But unlike Mr Darcy, Mr Latte didn’t show any pride or prejudice. His only competition was Mr Decaf Cappuccino, with whom Mrs Bennet was also well acquainted.
She had broken her own rules today and crammed in too much and she was feeling the brunt of it. Perhaps foolishly she had agreed to a writing commission for a well-known magazine, which had to be written within three days. As she was caring for five children all day, it meant any intellectual thinking had to be reserved for late evening – which she knew was a time when she would prefer to curl up on the sofa with a glass of ice-cold white wine.
As it happened Mr Bennet also had a deadline to meet. So the two of them hammered away on computer keys – he in the conservatory, she in the lounge.
Handing him a coffee at midnight – not the healthiest option, but essential in keeping the eyes open, she muttered: “You in your small corner and I in mine.”
The trouble was the two corners hardly met. But she at least took comfort in the fact the corners were at least in the same house.
I'm out of here!
Tuesday, July 22 08
How can five children be so different in 24 hours? All they seemed to do was moan, groan, whinge, whine and moan some more.
“It’s not so bad when one is doing it, but when they all take their turns during the course of the day, it’s as if they’re going at it all the time. Mr Bennet better watch what he says when he gets home, otherwise I’m definitely getting on a plane out of here!” considered Mrs Bennet.
She hadn’t quite got to the airport, but she was “out of here” just the same – in her familiar hiding place in a certain café five minutes drive from home. It was irrelevant about the close proximity – this was her “shed” for now while her own was in the planning stage. Mr Bennet had only returned home a few minutes ago, and already she was taking refuge with her toy-boy substitute – extra hot, medium, soothing and hitting the right spot. Alright well it was only a latte, but it served the same purpose! She always asked for it to be extra hot because if it was too cold she ended up drinking it before she had time to savour it. By being a tad on the hot side, it meant she had to sip slowly and therefore she could ponder whilst doing so.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like being with her children. She loved spending time with them, creating and making. But it was the drone of negativity which dragged her down. Being a positive person, it was like swimming against a tide to counter-act the ungrateful words muttered from the Miss Bennets.
It hadn’t been the most exciting start to the day. Who could blame them for being dragged to the dentist to wait while their Mum got her only five minute break – sitting in the dentist chair being looked at by a dishy young man.
“You know you’re getting old when the people who are trying to fix parts of your anatomy which are beginning to let you down, are much younger than you!” she thought as she sat obediently, praying there wouldn’t be anything other than a check-up to pay for. Her maternity exemption had run out as the dentist was a private one, she could easily hand over her shopping money in one go.
Give them credit, the little Bennets had been good. Mrs Bennet’s own mum had been brought along for re-inforcement and she had such a calming influence on everyone around her. But once out of the dentist, the Bennets turned into whinge-buckets again, protesting at the walk, demanding they were hungry and needed something to do.
A pizza, several rounds of toast and drinks later, Mrs Bennet’s purse was looking a little empty. But so relieved she didn’t need any treatment didn’t mind treating her brood to lunch.
The aim of today was to visit a Science Fair, organised by Cambridge university students. As little twin Bennets were happily dozing in their pushchair, Mrs Bennet got to play with a giant hand, pulling strings to get the bones to move; whizzing round on a stool with weights in her hand, watching her children construct bridges and looking at a house fly wing close up 400 times its size.
“You can tell their intellectuals. You ask them a question and they can’t look you in the eye. In fact they don’t know where to look!” informed a fellow mum as I joined her to watch a beach ball being propelled upwards on a current of air.
Mrs Bennet wasn’t large chested at all, so she didn’t have that problem of certain individuals talking below her chin. But she did have friends who did and she could see the frustrations of it all.
“I don’t blame the students. Best not to look anywhere, save embarrassment,” she decided.
Occupied for an hour, the Bennet girls did enjoy their science lessons, but promptly went into sulk mode when Mrs Bennet declared it was time to return to the car.
“We don’t want to go home. We want to go to the nice bakery! Now!” Such demands were not greeted with grace by Mrs Bennet. In fact it made her more determined to get them home. The more she strode on, the more they protested.
This kind of behaviour continued throughout the afternoon, leaving Mrs Bennet rather frazzled, so much so she wrote a warning email to her husband.
“Dear Mr Bennet,
Your children have constantly moaned, groaned and whinged. In fact their behaviour today has been awful. I just thought I’d better warn you should you get your head snapped off as you walk through the door! Love Mrs B."
Having got that off her chest, she ordered her offspring into the garden to enjoy the dry weather and refused to let them in until they’d had some fresh air. A mini sports event followed, involving a small box, three potatoes, three satsumas and a hula hoop which Mrs Bennet managed to secure to a thin Elm tree with gaffa tape and her washing line.
There were a few protests as rules weren’t abided to, but at least it did amuse and entertain those in earshot – including one of the twin Bennets - if not the participants themselves.
As Mrs Bennet drank the dregs of her second lover, she thought about the day and relaxed a little. If she didn’t return for another half an hour she knew Mr Bennet would have bathed the children. She couldn’t fault him on his fatherly duties. Sometimes she just wished she could spend as much time with him as she did her latte.
How can five children be so different in 24 hours? All they seemed to do was moan, groan, whinge, whine and moan some more.
“It’s not so bad when one is doing it, but when they all take their turns during the course of the day, it’s as if they’re going at it all the time. Mr Bennet better watch what he says when he gets home, otherwise I’m definitely getting on a plane out of here!” considered Mrs Bennet.
She hadn’t quite got to the airport, but she was “out of here” just the same – in her familiar hiding place in a certain café five minutes drive from home. It was irrelevant about the close proximity – this was her “shed” for now while her own was in the planning stage. Mr Bennet had only returned home a few minutes ago, and already she was taking refuge with her toy-boy substitute – extra hot, medium, soothing and hitting the right spot. Alright well it was only a latte, but it served the same purpose! She always asked for it to be extra hot because if it was too cold she ended up drinking it before she had time to savour it. By being a tad on the hot side, it meant she had to sip slowly and therefore she could ponder whilst doing so.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like being with her children. She loved spending time with them, creating and making. But it was the drone of negativity which dragged her down. Being a positive person, it was like swimming against a tide to counter-act the ungrateful words muttered from the Miss Bennets.
It hadn’t been the most exciting start to the day. Who could blame them for being dragged to the dentist to wait while their Mum got her only five minute break – sitting in the dentist chair being looked at by a dishy young man.
“You know you’re getting old when the people who are trying to fix parts of your anatomy which are beginning to let you down, are much younger than you!” she thought as she sat obediently, praying there wouldn’t be anything other than a check-up to pay for. Her maternity exemption had run out as the dentist was a private one, she could easily hand over her shopping money in one go.
Give them credit, the little Bennets had been good. Mrs Bennet’s own mum had been brought along for re-inforcement and she had such a calming influence on everyone around her. But once out of the dentist, the Bennets turned into whinge-buckets again, protesting at the walk, demanding they were hungry and needed something to do.
A pizza, several rounds of toast and drinks later, Mrs Bennet’s purse was looking a little empty. But so relieved she didn’t need any treatment didn’t mind treating her brood to lunch.
The aim of today was to visit a Science Fair, organised by Cambridge university students. As little twin Bennets were happily dozing in their pushchair, Mrs Bennet got to play with a giant hand, pulling strings to get the bones to move; whizzing round on a stool with weights in her hand, watching her children construct bridges and looking at a house fly wing close up 400 times its size.
“You can tell their intellectuals. You ask them a question and they can’t look you in the eye. In fact they don’t know where to look!” informed a fellow mum as I joined her to watch a beach ball being propelled upwards on a current of air.
Mrs Bennet wasn’t large chested at all, so she didn’t have that problem of certain individuals talking below her chin. But she did have friends who did and she could see the frustrations of it all.
“I don’t blame the students. Best not to look anywhere, save embarrassment,” she decided.
Occupied for an hour, the Bennet girls did enjoy their science lessons, but promptly went into sulk mode when Mrs Bennet declared it was time to return to the car.
“We don’t want to go home. We want to go to the nice bakery! Now!” Such demands were not greeted with grace by Mrs Bennet. In fact it made her more determined to get them home. The more she strode on, the more they protested.
This kind of behaviour continued throughout the afternoon, leaving Mrs Bennet rather frazzled, so much so she wrote a warning email to her husband.
“Dear Mr Bennet,
Your children have constantly moaned, groaned and whinged. In fact their behaviour today has been awful. I just thought I’d better warn you should you get your head snapped off as you walk through the door! Love Mrs B."
Having got that off her chest, she ordered her offspring into the garden to enjoy the dry weather and refused to let them in until they’d had some fresh air. A mini sports event followed, involving a small box, three potatoes, three satsumas and a hula hoop which Mrs Bennet managed to secure to a thin Elm tree with gaffa tape and her washing line.
There were a few protests as rules weren’t abided to, but at least it did amuse and entertain those in earshot – including one of the twin Bennets - if not the participants themselves.
As Mrs Bennet drank the dregs of her second lover, she thought about the day and relaxed a little. If she didn’t return for another half an hour she knew Mr Bennet would have bathed the children. She couldn’t fault him on his fatherly duties. Sometimes she just wished she could spend as much time with him as she did her latte.
Doggie Trouble
Monday, July 21 2008
“Hmm, the first real day of the summer holidays. If I can polish up my juggling skills, determine to live moment by moment and breath deeply, I’ll be OK,” thought Mrs Bennet, “Oh, and pick my battles.” She mentally made a note that if Miss Bennet Number Three insisted on wearing her pyjama top to town, she could. It really wasn’t worth the fuss, unless it was raining. But then there was always Dora the Explorer Umbrella to fall back on – which incidentally matched the pyjamas.
On the last day of school term, waiting for the endless drawings, projects and collages crammed with nobbly bits which seemed to fall off everywhere and smelly PE kit to hit her, Mrs Bennet made a vow to herself: to do what she had to do in order to keep her head above water.
She only asked for one thing – to be able to do her two exercise classes on a Monday and Thursday morning. Because she knew if her bits weren’t in the right place, she wouldn’t be in a good place either. So she booked her younger three into the crèche and allowed the older two Bennets to sit like the grown-ups on the sofas in the entrance area and play games, read or talk quietly.
All went swimmingly this morning until Miss Naomi Bennet noticed Welly, a small dog under the feet of its owner, who also happened to own the fitness complex.
It really was a problem for Mrs Bennet. Her children had this unfortunate and highly embarrassing habit of freezing in fear if a dog or cat came remotely close to them. Friends had to lock their pets in kitchens, bedrooms, front rooms and gardens, just so the Bennet girls would step into their house at all.
This fear was spreading. Later that day, when the girls were tucking into their hand-crafted beef burgers, next-door’s cat brushed herself against the smallest twin Bennet, who promptly screamed hysterically in fright. Her eldest three siblings, echoed her cry and quickly dispersed while the bolder twin, went up to her feline friend, stroked his head and laughed. Holding the scared twin in her arms, Mrs Bennet tried to calm her daughters down, but two were hiding behind the car and the middle one rushed into the house, forgetting to close the door behind her so, thinking it was all a joke, the cat saw a great chance to explore and promptly followed her in. Miss Kezia Bennet had buried her face into her mother’s neck and refused to look up, but Mrs Bennet tried her best to get up and go to her third daughter’s rescue. She found her perched on the top of the sofa
“What are we going to do Mr Bennet? I can’t go anywhere without a dog popping up and the girls going ballistic. It’s driving me potty!” she told her husband.
“The only way that’s going to happen is if we get a dog ourselves,” he replied.
“Mr Bennet you must be joking. Five girls is enough thank you. I have enough wee and poo to clear up as it is!”
“Hmm, the first real day of the summer holidays. If I can polish up my juggling skills, determine to live moment by moment and breath deeply, I’ll be OK,” thought Mrs Bennet, “Oh, and pick my battles.” She mentally made a note that if Miss Bennet Number Three insisted on wearing her pyjama top to town, she could. It really wasn’t worth the fuss, unless it was raining. But then there was always Dora the Explorer Umbrella to fall back on – which incidentally matched the pyjamas.
On the last day of school term, waiting for the endless drawings, projects and collages crammed with nobbly bits which seemed to fall off everywhere and smelly PE kit to hit her, Mrs Bennet made a vow to herself: to do what she had to do in order to keep her head above water.
She only asked for one thing – to be able to do her two exercise classes on a Monday and Thursday morning. Because she knew if her bits weren’t in the right place, she wouldn’t be in a good place either. So she booked her younger three into the crèche and allowed the older two Bennets to sit like the grown-ups on the sofas in the entrance area and play games, read or talk quietly.
All went swimmingly this morning until Miss Naomi Bennet noticed Welly, a small dog under the feet of its owner, who also happened to own the fitness complex.
It really was a problem for Mrs Bennet. Her children had this unfortunate and highly embarrassing habit of freezing in fear if a dog or cat came remotely close to them. Friends had to lock their pets in kitchens, bedrooms, front rooms and gardens, just so the Bennet girls would step into their house at all.
This fear was spreading. Later that day, when the girls were tucking into their hand-crafted beef burgers, next-door’s cat brushed herself against the smallest twin Bennet, who promptly screamed hysterically in fright. Her eldest three siblings, echoed her cry and quickly dispersed while the bolder twin, went up to her feline friend, stroked his head and laughed. Holding the scared twin in her arms, Mrs Bennet tried to calm her daughters down, but two were hiding behind the car and the middle one rushed into the house, forgetting to close the door behind her so, thinking it was all a joke, the cat saw a great chance to explore and promptly followed her in. Miss Kezia Bennet had buried her face into her mother’s neck and refused to look up, but Mrs Bennet tried her best to get up and go to her third daughter’s rescue. She found her perched on the top of the sofa
“What are we going to do Mr Bennet? I can’t go anywhere without a dog popping up and the girls going ballistic. It’s driving me potty!” she told her husband.
“The only way that’s going to happen is if we get a dog ourselves,” he replied.
“Mr Bennet you must be joking. Five girls is enough thank you. I have enough wee and poo to clear up as it is!”
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