Santa, sleep and a certain nightly activity

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!