Thursday, December 25, 08
Mrs Bennet was suitably impressed with Santa this year, although she was a little put out that he hadn’t eaten all her mince pie. It was only a mini one and he still hadn't eaten all of it. He’d drunk the bottle of beer though. Still, he had taken into account that there was literally no room in the inn for large and unnecessary presents. The Misses Bennets didn’t seem to mind. They were thrilled with their toothbrushes, personalised baubles, pens and doll's house treats. The twins were impressed with the wrapping paper. Miss Emily Bennet couldn’t believe Father Christmas had slipped three mini tins of tuna in her stocking and Mr Bennet couldn’t believe his wife had given him an ironing board cover. It was to pay him back for the t-towel and dish cloth he’d bought her the Christmas before.
Unlike last year, Miss Naomi Bennet got up at a reasonable hour. The three o’clock wake up call was replaced by an even earlier alarm from Miss Rosie Bennet who decided she’d like to play thank you very much and wouldn’t hear otherwise. As Mr and Mrs Bennet had only hit the sack half an hour before, it was yet another sleepless night. It was just as well their family was complete, because the Bennet tribe may have stayed at two, if the twins had arrived first. They shared a room with their parents for the first 12 months because there was just no where else to put them. Being spied on by active babies, who liked to peer over their cots and stare at Mr and Mrs Bennet late at night, meant passionate moments were non-existent. The little twin Bennets had front row seats and were quite happy to stay awake to get their money’s worth. The fact that the parental bedroom door didn’t shut properly didn’t help matters either. Children had a habit of sniffing out intimate embraces as they did chocolate, and would suddenly appear from nowhere. Thankfully Mr and Mrs Bennet had a good sense of humour. The fact they had more than one child was an achievement in itself.
But this year, the cot was not at the bottom of the bed. Mrs Bennet was no longer a cow and for once did not have to get up to feed a calf. After almost nine years, her husband could feed the child by getting a bottle of milk from the fridge and she could resume her once close relationship with her good friend Sleep.
Of course she didn’t mind a warm embrace with her husband, but as disturbed nights were still the norm, an extra few minutes with Mr Sleep was far more appealing.
It was almost a relief to wake up on Christmas Day. Nothing more could be done. The baby Jesus was happily sleeping in his crib and hadn’t been lost as in past years. A friend had told her to keep him in the cutlery drawer so he didn’t get thrown out by mistake. The Christmas presents, neatly wrapped were now undone and the turkey was bronzing nicely in the oven.
Mrs Bennet was content. She lacked for nothing. For once there were no colds, no bickering, just five little children, faces excited and a Mr Bennet who, this year, didn’t have a broken arm and could give her a hug without the risk of knocking her out with his plaster.
Instead of a kitchen utensil, which he knew would have been thrown at him, he’d given her a brain trainer game - no doubt to put right what five births had destroyed - but as the gentleman on her eldest daughter’s Nintendo DS had informed her that unfortunately her brain age was 80, she decided she’d better get practising. Still, it was better than trying out a new ironing board cover!
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Cat food aisle proves festive refuge
Tuesday, December 23 08
It was the morning before the morning before Christmas and Mrs Bennet was sleep deprived. She’d just wiped cream all over her face to discover it wasn’t cream at all, but hair gel. Half asleep, her eyes hadn’t registered the difference in the two pots. But her skin quickly did when the stinging started. It was with a certain red glow about her person, that she made another mistake – venturing into a certain supermarket with the twin Bennets due to a desperate need for wet wipes and nappies. She hadn’t meant to leave supplies so empty, but festivities, present hunting, wrapping, delivering, card writing, visiting and nursing poorly children had been her main pre-occupation. It was only when the twins were wearing the last nappies in the house, she realised something had to be done. She didn’t want to be caught short like last month, when Miss Rosie Bennet had been wearing a make-shift nappy – a t-towel of the Scottish Highlands, knotted either side of her hips – because once cleaning a rather dirty derriere, Mrs Bennet realised she had nothing to put on it.
Running on empty was something she was guilty of doing as was running out of nappies. However the rest of the town were not buying nappies, but were ravaging the store of every sprout, carrot, brandy butter, chestnut and indigestion tablets.
They were so short of trolleys, Mrs Bennet had to opt for a double trolley consisting of a baby and toddler seat, which suited the twins perfectly.
“You’ve left one of the twins at home I see,” remarked one of the supermarket assistants. Mrs Bennet raised her eyebrows, bemused.
“No, they’re both here.”
“Oh, I thought you’d brought your middle one along instead. Gosh they’re so different aren’t they?”
The twins just grinned, lapping up the attention. And off they went, happily pointing at people in Clanger-like voices as their driver swerved sharply to the right to avoid the vegetable scrum. A double trolley and a determined mass of bodies vying for the last bag of parsnips was a recipe for disaster and Mrs Bennet felt exhausted from her game of dodgem cars with shoppers and shelves. She took refuge in the cat and dog food aisle. It was empty. Five daughters and husband were enough mouths to feed, but she was half tempted to buy a pet just to stay in the oasis of Pedigree Chum.
On her return, she vowed not to go anywhere near the place again until New Year. But realised with horror, she’d forgotten the nappies after all so promptly used up her “phone-a-friend” card for assistance. As she did so, the doorbell rang. A handsome man presented her with a large festive bouquet as big as her dining table.
“Oh are they for me?”
“No Madam, they are for a Mr Bennet,” came the reply, “Does he live here?”
“Yes he does. Who are they from?” Mrs Bennet asked a little peeved that her husband had a secret admirer.
“He will have to look at the envelope attached Madam.” And with that the messenger had gone, before Mrs Bennet could reply.
“He won’t. I will,” she muttered, and tore open the accompanied note, which, she discovered, had been sent by another man.
Confused, she rang Mr Bennet, who laughed and confessed his so called “lover” was “another man and his wife” and the flowers were really for her.
Although Mrs Bennet’s gel-stung face matched the festive floral display, her relief helped her hot cheeks to lighten somewhat. After all Mr Darcy falling for Mr Bennet was definitely not in her plot.
It was the morning before the morning before Christmas and Mrs Bennet was sleep deprived. She’d just wiped cream all over her face to discover it wasn’t cream at all, but hair gel. Half asleep, her eyes hadn’t registered the difference in the two pots. But her skin quickly did when the stinging started. It was with a certain red glow about her person, that she made another mistake – venturing into a certain supermarket with the twin Bennets due to a desperate need for wet wipes and nappies. She hadn’t meant to leave supplies so empty, but festivities, present hunting, wrapping, delivering, card writing, visiting and nursing poorly children had been her main pre-occupation. It was only when the twins were wearing the last nappies in the house, she realised something had to be done. She didn’t want to be caught short like last month, when Miss Rosie Bennet had been wearing a make-shift nappy – a t-towel of the Scottish Highlands, knotted either side of her hips – because once cleaning a rather dirty derriere, Mrs Bennet realised she had nothing to put on it.
Running on empty was something she was guilty of doing as was running out of nappies. However the rest of the town were not buying nappies, but were ravaging the store of every sprout, carrot, brandy butter, chestnut and indigestion tablets.
They were so short of trolleys, Mrs Bennet had to opt for a double trolley consisting of a baby and toddler seat, which suited the twins perfectly.
“You’ve left one of the twins at home I see,” remarked one of the supermarket assistants. Mrs Bennet raised her eyebrows, bemused.
“No, they’re both here.”
“Oh, I thought you’d brought your middle one along instead. Gosh they’re so different aren’t they?”
The twins just grinned, lapping up the attention. And off they went, happily pointing at people in Clanger-like voices as their driver swerved sharply to the right to avoid the vegetable scrum. A double trolley and a determined mass of bodies vying for the last bag of parsnips was a recipe for disaster and Mrs Bennet felt exhausted from her game of dodgem cars with shoppers and shelves. She took refuge in the cat and dog food aisle. It was empty. Five daughters and husband were enough mouths to feed, but she was half tempted to buy a pet just to stay in the oasis of Pedigree Chum.
On her return, she vowed not to go anywhere near the place again until New Year. But realised with horror, she’d forgotten the nappies after all so promptly used up her “phone-a-friend” card for assistance. As she did so, the doorbell rang. A handsome man presented her with a large festive bouquet as big as her dining table.
“Oh are they for me?”
“No Madam, they are for a Mr Bennet,” came the reply, “Does he live here?”
“Yes he does. Who are they from?” Mrs Bennet asked a little peeved that her husband had a secret admirer.
“He will have to look at the envelope attached Madam.” And with that the messenger had gone, before Mrs Bennet could reply.
“He won’t. I will,” she muttered, and tore open the accompanied note, which, she discovered, had been sent by another man.
Confused, she rang Mr Bennet, who laughed and confessed his so called “lover” was “another man and his wife” and the flowers were really for her.
Although Mrs Bennet’s gel-stung face matched the festive floral display, her relief helped her hot cheeks to lighten somewhat. After all Mr Darcy falling for Mr Bennet was definitely not in her plot.
Monday, 22 December 2008
And lo the infant was found ..in a Barbie shoe!
Monday, December 22 08
The Bennet children’s excitement and anticipation were rising as Christmas Day loomed near. Their festive spirit was contagious and it rubbed off on Mrs Bennet. She fondly thought back on Christmas Past and wondered what Christmas Present and Christmas Future would bring. Christmas Day two years ago, Mrs Bennet, then four months pregnant with the twins; had been persuaded by aspiring actress, Miss Bennet Number One to play the part of Mary in a home impromptu nativity production, inspired by three grass skirts – a dressing-up present from Africa – which transformed into a realistic manger and stable straw. Jannie, Mrs Bennet’s mum, obediently wore a t-towel on her head and carried a lamb; Mr Bennet played the part of all three kings while Grampie, Mrs Bennet’s dad, took great delight in being horrid Herod. He was so convincing he made Miss Megan Bennet, then two, cry.
Last year, Mrs Bennet endeavoured to be a “yummy mummy” and bake her own mince pies, but outbursts from the lounge prevented her culinary skills reaching perfection. An angel in the form of a small tornado appeared before her, whizzing into the hallway and coming to a sudden halt. Deliberate in its actions, the angel demanded a listening ear.
“Something terrible’s happened Mummy! We’ve lost baby Jesus! He fell into the toy box and we can’t find him!” the tornado cried.
Mentally ordering her curling lip to stay straight, Mrs Bennet tried to speak, but Miss Emily Bennet got their first.
“What are we going to do? We can’t possibly have Christmas without baby Jesus!”
“Well, that can’t do. I’ll come and help you find him,” replied Mrs Bennet, knowing this mission to find a 2cm-long baby, required divine intervention.
An hour later, mince pies long burnt and thrown in the garden to prevent a fire, Christmas was saved. Baby Jesus was discovered wedged inside a modern form of crib - a pink Barbie shoe.
But the highlight of Christmas 2007 had to be Miss Megan Bennet. Whilst the older Bennet girls wanted High School Musical gadgets and dolls, she had one desire.
“Mummy,” she announced, her face serious, “I want a real baby Jesus for Christmas. Do you think Father Christmas can get me one?”
Mrs Bennet smiled, reliving the memory.
"It’s moments like these which keep the true spirit of Christmas alive,” she muttered.
The Bennet children’s excitement and anticipation were rising as Christmas Day loomed near. Their festive spirit was contagious and it rubbed off on Mrs Bennet. She fondly thought back on Christmas Past and wondered what Christmas Present and Christmas Future would bring. Christmas Day two years ago, Mrs Bennet, then four months pregnant with the twins; had been persuaded by aspiring actress, Miss Bennet Number One to play the part of Mary in a home impromptu nativity production, inspired by three grass skirts – a dressing-up present from Africa – which transformed into a realistic manger and stable straw. Jannie, Mrs Bennet’s mum, obediently wore a t-towel on her head and carried a lamb; Mr Bennet played the part of all three kings while Grampie, Mrs Bennet’s dad, took great delight in being horrid Herod. He was so convincing he made Miss Megan Bennet, then two, cry.
Last year, Mrs Bennet endeavoured to be a “yummy mummy” and bake her own mince pies, but outbursts from the lounge prevented her culinary skills reaching perfection. An angel in the form of a small tornado appeared before her, whizzing into the hallway and coming to a sudden halt. Deliberate in its actions, the angel demanded a listening ear.
“Something terrible’s happened Mummy! We’ve lost baby Jesus! He fell into the toy box and we can’t find him!” the tornado cried.
Mentally ordering her curling lip to stay straight, Mrs Bennet tried to speak, but Miss Emily Bennet got their first.
“What are we going to do? We can’t possibly have Christmas without baby Jesus!”
“Well, that can’t do. I’ll come and help you find him,” replied Mrs Bennet, knowing this mission to find a 2cm-long baby, required divine intervention.
An hour later, mince pies long burnt and thrown in the garden to prevent a fire, Christmas was saved. Baby Jesus was discovered wedged inside a modern form of crib - a pink Barbie shoe.
But the highlight of Christmas 2007 had to be Miss Megan Bennet. Whilst the older Bennet girls wanted High School Musical gadgets and dolls, she had one desire.
“Mummy,” she announced, her face serious, “I want a real baby Jesus for Christmas. Do you think Father Christmas can get me one?”
Mrs Bennet smiled, reliving the memory.
"It’s moments like these which keep the true spirit of Christmas alive,” she muttered.
Saturday, 6 December 2008
Toiletry shares needed!
Saturday, December 7 08
Mrs Bennet worked out that by the time the little twin Bennets were potty trained, she would have changed about 32,760 nappies. It was no wonder her hands were dry. But she had at least perfected her skill and achieved a personal best in terms of pit stop timing. With two little bottoms performing in sync, it was paramount the cleaning-up process was fast and efficient – to eliminate not only cries but smell.
Standing in a supermarket queue, it was obvious she wasn’t the only one who could do with taking out shares in baby toiletries. The lady in front of her was buying countless wet wipes, stacked like bricks on the conveyor belt. Mrs Bennet couldn’t help but comment.
“That’s an awful lot of wet wipes!” she remarked.
“They’re on offer – buy one get one free. I couldn’t resist and thought I’d build up a supply for my daughter who’s expecting in four months time. I’m buying 40 for the price of 20!”
Mrs Bennet didn’t know what to say. Calculating in her mind, she worked out that in four months, she too would get through the same amount. The thought of finding room for so many wet wipes however completely put her off the idea.
With five daughters, Mrs Bennet knew only full well how many pounds she would have to spend on toiletries in the coming years. Poor Mr Bennet - six lots of PMT were just too much for one man! She recalled getting her own dad to buy her sanitary towels because she couldn’t face the embarrassment of getting them herself. Mr Bennet, one of five sons, had no idea what he would be facing!
“I think I need to set up a “time of the month” account,” she thought.
Only yesterday, Miss Emily Bennet presented her with a small white bullet, she’d discovered on the driveway. Not yet aware of the significance of this highly important item, she happily gave it back to her mother.
“One day, she won’t be showing that around quite so innocently,” thought Mrs Bennet, relishing in her daughter’s innocence.
Mr Bennet followed grinning.
“Emily found it and told me: “I’m going to give this to Mummy. She’ll be pleased because did you know Daddy, she collects them!”
Mrs Bennet laughed. How true. Perhaps she should be collecting in bulk now, ready for the onslaught of Bennet hormonal periods in the coming years!
Mrs Bennet worked out that by the time the little twin Bennets were potty trained, she would have changed about 32,760 nappies. It was no wonder her hands were dry. But she had at least perfected her skill and achieved a personal best in terms of pit stop timing. With two little bottoms performing in sync, it was paramount the cleaning-up process was fast and efficient – to eliminate not only cries but smell.
Standing in a supermarket queue, it was obvious she wasn’t the only one who could do with taking out shares in baby toiletries. The lady in front of her was buying countless wet wipes, stacked like bricks on the conveyor belt. Mrs Bennet couldn’t help but comment.
“That’s an awful lot of wet wipes!” she remarked.
“They’re on offer – buy one get one free. I couldn’t resist and thought I’d build up a supply for my daughter who’s expecting in four months time. I’m buying 40 for the price of 20!”
Mrs Bennet didn’t know what to say. Calculating in her mind, she worked out that in four months, she too would get through the same amount. The thought of finding room for so many wet wipes however completely put her off the idea.
With five daughters, Mrs Bennet knew only full well how many pounds she would have to spend on toiletries in the coming years. Poor Mr Bennet - six lots of PMT were just too much for one man! She recalled getting her own dad to buy her sanitary towels because she couldn’t face the embarrassment of getting them herself. Mr Bennet, one of five sons, had no idea what he would be facing!
“I think I need to set up a “time of the month” account,” she thought.
Only yesterday, Miss Emily Bennet presented her with a small white bullet, she’d discovered on the driveway. Not yet aware of the significance of this highly important item, she happily gave it back to her mother.
“One day, she won’t be showing that around quite so innocently,” thought Mrs Bennet, relishing in her daughter’s innocence.
Mr Bennet followed grinning.
“Emily found it and told me: “I’m going to give this to Mummy. She’ll be pleased because did you know Daddy, she collects them!”
Mrs Bennet laughed. How true. Perhaps she should be collecting in bulk now, ready for the onslaught of Bennet hormonal periods in the coming years!
The cow’s empty
Friday, December 5 08
Mr Latte was still on strike and so was Mr Cappucino, Mr Mocha and all his frothy milk associates. Mrs Bennet wasn’t particularly bothered as she hadn’t been giving Mr Latte much of her time lately. She’d been feeling a little under par and hadn’t fancy him. Mrs Bennet thought he might be taking the hump, irked that she hadn’t needed him.
Milk was definitely off the menu. The Mother cow was also empty. She had closed the productive milk bar a couple of weeks ago. The calf (Miss Kezia Bennet) and cow (Mrs Bennet) had come to some mutual agreement and were happy to part company. It did make Mrs Bennet a little sad, but having fed five calves over the past nine years, she did think it was about time she reclaimed her valuable assets back. Sadly though they were no longer an impressive size. Her Dolly Parton days were now officially over, although she must admit it was a relief to run again without the risk of black eyes.
When the milk first came in, three days after the arrival of Miss Bennets Four and Five, she could quite easily have posed for Calendar Girls. Freshly returned from Lords, her midwife friend was stunned by her somewhat buxom appearance.
“The cameras would have picked those out in the crowd and panned in on you. Mr Bennet won’t believe his eyes,” she’d remarked laughing.
He didn’t. But Mrs Bennet made it very clear they were not for him.
The cleavage however was short lived and here she was with the dregs, the leftovers. Chicken fillets were tempting, but she couldn’t quite face it.
So the milk was empty. And Mr Latte wasn’t offering her any comfort either.
It was his loss. A bunch of roses was waiting for her when she got home. The Mr Darcy in Mr Bennet had come shining through instead.
Mr Latte was still on strike and so was Mr Cappucino, Mr Mocha and all his frothy milk associates. Mrs Bennet wasn’t particularly bothered as she hadn’t been giving Mr Latte much of her time lately. She’d been feeling a little under par and hadn’t fancy him. Mrs Bennet thought he might be taking the hump, irked that she hadn’t needed him.
Milk was definitely off the menu. The Mother cow was also empty. She had closed the productive milk bar a couple of weeks ago. The calf (Miss Kezia Bennet) and cow (Mrs Bennet) had come to some mutual agreement and were happy to part company. It did make Mrs Bennet a little sad, but having fed five calves over the past nine years, she did think it was about time she reclaimed her valuable assets back. Sadly though they were no longer an impressive size. Her Dolly Parton days were now officially over, although she must admit it was a relief to run again without the risk of black eyes.
When the milk first came in, three days after the arrival of Miss Bennets Four and Five, she could quite easily have posed for Calendar Girls. Freshly returned from Lords, her midwife friend was stunned by her somewhat buxom appearance.
“The cameras would have picked those out in the crowd and panned in on you. Mr Bennet won’t believe his eyes,” she’d remarked laughing.
He didn’t. But Mrs Bennet made it very clear they were not for him.
The cleavage however was short lived and here she was with the dregs, the leftovers. Chicken fillets were tempting, but she couldn’t quite face it.
So the milk was empty. And Mr Latte wasn’t offering her any comfort either.
It was his loss. A bunch of roses was waiting for her when she got home. The Mr Darcy in Mr Bennet had come shining through instead.
Monday, 1 December 2008
Mrs Bennet's cunning plan.....
Monday, December 1 08
Although Mrs Bennet loved the essence of Christmas, its message of joy and hope and the infectious excitement generated by her daughters, she did not enjoy writing Christmas cards. Mr Bennet shared her sentiments so didn't do any. Last year he even had the lame excuse of a broken arm. Mrs Bennet valued her arm too much to follow his example. Instead she put on her creative thinking cap. Watching her eldest daughters concentrate on their latest masterpieces - one was designing a made-up cartoon family she'd entitled The Wiggleworms; the other was mixing colour and shape in Picasso fashion - Mrs Bennet issued them a challenge:
"Girls, if you each write 25 Christmas cards each, I'll take you out to breakfast!"
Miss Bennets Numbers One and Two promptly put down their tools and instantly turned into festive writing mode. After one card, Miss Naomi Bennet returned to her Wiggleworms. Kathleen Wiggleworm's outfit wasn't quite right and she wanted to perfect it. Miss Emily Bennet however had a bacon roll firmly etched on her mind and wrote mechanically for 30 minutes.
"Mummy, what about me?" asked a voice from behind Pepper Pig's rocket, "I can't write like they can yet, but can I come out with you as well, otherwise that's not fair is it?"
"I'll tell you what, if Naomi does her share, I'll take you out as well. A bit like take two, take one free!" Mrs Bennet informed her third daughter, who didn't quite understand the concept.
Only one child earned the breakfast the next morning. After a disturbed night due to coughing twins, Mrs Bennet was woken up by her alarm clock - a gentle tapping on her arm. An eager fully-dressed second daughter peered over her, determined not to miss out on her wages. Half asleep, Mrs Bennet fulfilled her side of the bargain. Miss Bennet Number Two got her hot bacon butty. But Mrs Bennet did not get her Mr Latte. He obviously didn't approve of her bribery tactics and was on strike. Instead it was a Peely Wally start to the day - a mug of hot water and a longing to return home to the duvet.
Although Mrs Bennet loved the essence of Christmas, its message of joy and hope and the infectious excitement generated by her daughters, she did not enjoy writing Christmas cards. Mr Bennet shared her sentiments so didn't do any. Last year he even had the lame excuse of a broken arm. Mrs Bennet valued her arm too much to follow his example. Instead she put on her creative thinking cap. Watching her eldest daughters concentrate on their latest masterpieces - one was designing a made-up cartoon family she'd entitled The Wiggleworms; the other was mixing colour and shape in Picasso fashion - Mrs Bennet issued them a challenge:
"Girls, if you each write 25 Christmas cards each, I'll take you out to breakfast!"
Miss Bennets Numbers One and Two promptly put down their tools and instantly turned into festive writing mode. After one card, Miss Naomi Bennet returned to her Wiggleworms. Kathleen Wiggleworm's outfit wasn't quite right and she wanted to perfect it. Miss Emily Bennet however had a bacon roll firmly etched on her mind and wrote mechanically for 30 minutes.
"Mummy, what about me?" asked a voice from behind Pepper Pig's rocket, "I can't write like they can yet, but can I come out with you as well, otherwise that's not fair is it?"
"I'll tell you what, if Naomi does her share, I'll take you out as well. A bit like take two, take one free!" Mrs Bennet informed her third daughter, who didn't quite understand the concept.
Only one child earned the breakfast the next morning. After a disturbed night due to coughing twins, Mrs Bennet was woken up by her alarm clock - a gentle tapping on her arm. An eager fully-dressed second daughter peered over her, determined not to miss out on her wages. Half asleep, Mrs Bennet fulfilled her side of the bargain. Miss Bennet Number Two got her hot bacon butty. But Mrs Bennet did not get her Mr Latte. He obviously didn't approve of her bribery tactics and was on strike. Instead it was a Peely Wally start to the day - a mug of hot water and a longing to return home to the duvet.
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