Bite-size Pemberley is complete

Friday, May 29 ‘09

Mrs Bennet took off her sky blue Crocs and let the new carpet caress her feet. The carpet fitters were still on their knees but for once she was off hers. She seemed only to have prayed one recurring prayer over the past few months - for grace and humour to get her through to this point. It had worked and today marked the start of a new era. The old and the new parts of the Bennet home were finally joined together with a rolling field of beige – opening it up into the spacious place they so needed. The building project had taken as long as Miss Megan and Miss Emily Bennet’s pregnancies and 10 days short of Spag and Bol’s. Mrs Bennet had felt the growing pains, the heartburn, the cravings, and the discomfort of the house gestation and labour. Like in her four pregnancies, she had born the brunt of it, although Mr Bennet had been there at the birth and beyond. Before bite-size Pemberley even began, Mrs Bennet had told him very firmly that if he wanted a wife at the end of it, then they would have to move out while the Darcys in the Dirt moved in. They didn’t move out and after eight months of dust and disruption, Mrs Bennet was still Mr Bennet’s wife.
Leaving Mr Bennet to put up cots and pay the carpet men, she escaped to celebrate in her own quiet way. It couldn’t be a bottle of chilled rose thanks to a dose of antibiotics to get rid of a nasty infection which set in after that problem tooth had been removed. Incidentally Mrs Bennet had now forgiven the tooth fairy, who apparently had relented and left a pound coin underneath her pillow. It wasn’t quite enough to pay for a stool so Mrs Bennet could reach the chutney and chocolate, but it did help pay for her celebratory drink.
Steaming hot Mr Latte after all had become quite a friend during this whole process of change. He didn’t give her any answers, he didn’t judge and he didn’t give her direction. But he did give her time out from Miss Bennet demands and made her sit down, take stock and more importantly escape when there was just no room to run too.
As the big 4-0 was now approaching, Mrs Bennet had wondered if she had experienced some kind of “I-don’t-want-to-be-forty” moment, or whether it was just the pressure of having five children, a major building extension and grappling with her own anger at her dear mother’s cancer issue. As much as she enjoyed having the Darcys in the Dirt around, she was looking forward to enjoying the spaciousness and places to hide when it all got too much. For a while bite-size Pemberley would look a bit odd, as they didn’t have enough money to buy the furniture needed to fill it. But a few cushions would do for now. Her shed was to be called The Space. It would be hers to go whenever she wanted. There was the problem of finding a desk, but as she’d earmarked an old piece of lounge carpet, which the carpet fitters had kindly laid for her, and the battered futon, all she needed was her laptop, some classical music, her laptop, sketchbook and Mr Latte and she would be in her own world for a few minutes – a world where she could just be and dream again. Having five children was such a privilege, but if she was honest at times, it could be a little too much. Her octopus had never arrived, so she did her best to provide a loving arm to which ever Miss Bennet needed it at the time. It did mean that Miss Kezia or Bol was forever hanging in monkey-fashion around her shin while she did so, but although she didn’t like it even Bol knew Mrs Bennet’s love had to go around.
During the whole Pemberley episode, Mrs Bennet had learnt a valuable lesson. That it was vital, while she was attending to the needs of her growing brood, she had to attend to her own needs too. In recent weeks having written about the plethora of artists and creative people living in her area, she had succumbed to her own long-forgotten painting cravings, and gone out and bought some canvases and paints. Now the Darcys in the Dirt were gone and the drilling had stopped, Mrs Bennet could concentrate on being a mother, a friend, a lover and the creative being she knew she was. Life in bite-sized Pemberley would no doubt have its moments of excitement and frustrations, but it would be a house of laughter and life, providing volumes and volumes of memories for her to capture with her pen. So long as she kept off the spicy olives, she could concentrate on bringing up her Bennet production line and not add to it any further.

Forget fainting Mrs Bennet gets knocked out instead

Thursday, May 21 ‘09

Mrs Bennet did not faint again in the dentist’s chair as she feared she might. Instead she faced her fear and went anyway, after eating a good breakfast and stuffing a banana in her mouth 15 minutes before her appointment. Having consulted a laughter book she had by her bed, she had found a quote from the Bible which said “you will run and not faint.” Well that morning she ran four miles, and she didn’t faint whilst having a tooth out either – despite the fact she had it removed, while serenaded to Abba’s “SOS!” The tooth’s life had ended, but so too had the abscess. With all the pressure off the nerve ending, the dentist informed her she should start feeling better as her body wouldn’t have to fight off any more poison. That was reassuring anyway.
But this morning she was annoyed. The tooth fairy, obviously not very impressed with Mrs Bennet, who had left a note for her instead of the tooth in question, didn’t leave her anything. Not wishing to look at her poorly tooth, Mrs Bennet had left it with the dentist. Therefore there hadn't been a proper offering to give the fairy. So she didn't leave a proper offering for Mrs Bennet. It meant Mrs Bennet couldn’t buy the stool she needed for the kitchen, so instead she took the children’s plastic step, once part of a potty in a previous life, from the bathroom.
Twenty-four hours after the extraction event, Mrs Bennet still couldn’t feel her tongue and her right cheek was starting to throb. She didn’t feel the best, but mothers always soldier on, don’t they?
And so she arrived at school later that day to pick up the older three Bennets who had stayed late for various cooking and library clubs. As usual the three of them walked up to the school gate, with a member of staff to where Mrs Bennet was waiting on non-yellow lines to greet them. As the Scooby Doo van only had one door, which needed a certain strength to slide open, Mrs Bennet got out to walk round and let them in. Two of them climbed in. But then hearing a gasp of horror from one of them, Mrs Bennet turned and realised the car was moving forward. Being an automatic car, instead of being in park mode, Mrs Bennet had left it in drive mode, and it obeyed. It was going very slowly forward so Mrs Bennet ran round to see if she could get to the handbrake in time. Unfortunately in trying to open the door, she somehow managed to hit her head on the door and fell backwards into the road, while the car crashed into a Cotswold stone wall and came to a halt. Two of the children inside were upset, the poor child outside watching was upset, while the twins were chatting away, oblivious to what was going on. Mrs Bennet went white as a mum and teacher ran to her aid. Her head hurt and all she could think about was the children. She was just so thankful the car had been on a flat road and not on a hill. It could have been a lot lot worse.
Half an hour later she went into shock, shook for quite a while and ran Mr Bennet and told him to keep talking to her until she felt better. With five children on board, she was not going to put them at risk and drive until she was ready. Thankfully she had been wise enough to call a close friend for help, who came and kept her company. Relieved their mum was going to be OK, the Miss Bennets forgave her for not driving them to their friends’ house, where they were due to go for tea. Amazingly there were no paddies or displays of disappointment. Instead shocked by the runaway car and their mum’s attempt at head butting the door, they, like Mrs Bennet were just glad to get home. Mrs Bennet wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. She took a dose of pain killers and went to bed, hoping tomorrow would be better. Perhaps the tooth fairy might think again and make a return visit to her pillow.

With gritted teeth…..

Tuesday, May 19 ‘09

Mrs Bennet was feeling nervous. Tomorrow she was going back to have that dreaded tooth removed. She hadn’t felt right since her passing out saga. The thought of returning didn’t exactly fill her with much joy. It may well be a break from children but she could think of nicer places to go. Would she faint again? Could she go through with the procedure? Could she manage to stop thinking about what the dentist was doing? Would she be able to block out the horrible noise factor and think positive thoughts? The trouble was she had seen the torturous instrument responsible for extraction and it looked too similar to the contraption the builders had just used to pull up some tiles from the Bennets old kitchen floor. It was not a kind looking instrument. It looked like it could inflict pain and Mrs Bennet knew its relation would be back in her mouth tomorrow lunchtime.
She tried to take her mind off the matter. But every time she tried to eat something, it only reminded her that all was not well in her mouth. However the Darcys in the Dirt were getting on well now. With just three days left before every tool – including the macabre-looking instrument – walked out with their owners, bite-size Pemberley was a centre of noise and activity. The old kitchen was now part bathroom, part walk-in cupboard; the new kitchen was almost complete as Chief Mr Darcy grouted the tiles and secured wooden doors. And finally six months after the shed men had built her office, the electricity had been connected. The problem was, as the Bennets hadn’t been able to borrow all the money they had wanted, there were now no spare pounds to buy Mrs Bennet a desk or the additional luxury of her Mr Latte machine which she had so dreamed about. She would just have to wait a little bit longer.
The sound of drills echoed in her head as she tried to edit a radio piece on breastfeeding. It was a sound she did not want to hear in light of tomorrow.
Instead she tried to concentrate on the voice in her headphones. She was facilitating a radio project, whereby a group of ladies were being trained – by her – to interview lots of different people about the myths, difficulties, funny stories and attitudes concerning breastfeeding. The myth she was editing related to size. The question was: did it matter how large you were when it came to breast feeding your baby? The answer the midwife gave was so funny it made her roar with laughter.
“Whether you have two gnats on the end of an ironing board or you have a trombone to deal with, every mother will have more than enough milk to feed one baby, or two or three!”
Mrs Bennet had proved the fact that gnats did very well when it came to feeding two hungry twins. She looked back at the milk bar days with fondness. Seeing Spag and Bol running round with oodles of energy, giggling and bumping into each other with their new pushchairs, it was hard to imagine them ever being the tiny vulnerable bundles they once were.
“I would so love to make time stop sometimes. They just grow up so quickly, like sand slipping through your fingers,” she thought.
But then there were moments like those in the dentist chair that seemed to last forever and didn’t go quick enough. Purees were a thing of the past for the little Miss Bennets, but not so for Mrs Bennet. She would be on the organic baby food tomorrow. Baby rice pudding had always been her favourite.

Passing out in style

Thursday, May 14 09

Mrs Bennet needn’t have worried about having an emotional torrent in the dentist's chair. She did much worse. Seven weeks ago, as she sat in the reclining position, to her horror she cried. Jannie had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. Having held the tears back like a dam, to protect the children, unfortunately the only time there wasn’t a small person around, was in the dentist’s chair. And as the dentist pressed the button to tilt her backwards, he must have unlocked the floodgate. And the floods came, preventing him from removing the poorly tooth which had caused Mrs Bennet grief for almost 10 months, due to a festering abscess. Seven weeks later, Mrs Bennet was back, feeling calm and ready for pain. She’d given birth to five children without pain relief, so she could surely manage a tooth extraction.
Two injections later, all was well - until Mrs Bennet could see the instruments and started imagining what the dentist was doing. It was like watching a gardener attacking the roots of stubborn vegetables; only it was her roots he was dealing with. Her jaw felt like it was being yanked from its socket. She suddenly felt hot, her ears seemed to block out sound and the voices in the room were scarily quiet. She managed an “I don’t feel right,” and the next thing she knew her pulse was being taken, the seat lowered and the operation stopped. Mrs Bennet was horrified. How embarrassing. The procedure would have to continue next week. In the meantime her tooth was now slightly dislodged and as she drove home, a glucose tablet and glass of water later, bits of it started falling off. This was not going to be a fun week. A week of throbbing gums and anxious waiting for yet another visit to the dentist's chair. It was also going to be a week of Darcys in the Dirt ripping up tiles, plastering, plumbing, drilling and banging for all they were worth in order to finish their deadline, which was next Friday. Mr Bennet had ordered the carpet fitters to come the week after, so the Darcys had to finish all the major building work. Mr No Personality surveyor was due to visit the bite-size Pemberley in the coming weeks and unless he was satisfied, the money needed to pay for the work, would stay sitting in the building society. It had felt like Changing Rooms in the past few days and Mrs Bennet half expected Carole Smilie to pop into the kitchen for a much-needed cuppa. Mrs Bennet needed vodka or something similar right now. But thought better of it. Alcohol mixed with anaesthetic might not be such a good idea.
Instead she dosed herself up with paracetamol and spent the next three hours writing. It was the only thing which took her mind off into a different world. It provided a window into a space that was her own. Mrs Bennet was surrounded by chaos, but once she started tapping at the computer keys, she could block out dust, muddle and mess and write something which had a beginning, middle and an end. She knew bite-size Pemberley was almost there, but like her half extracted tooth, it wasn’t there yet. And she suspected it would get worse before it got better. Once done though, the space and the relief of coming through nine months of mayhem would be great. Would it be worth it? Yes. Would she go through it again? Definitely not.

Spag and Bol are two

Wednesday, May 13 ‘09

Mrs Bennet couldn’t quite believe Spag and Bol were now two years old. It didn’t seem that long ago, she had cradled them in her arms, clumsily trying to put two tiny heads into position and tandem feed. Now they were two little people, individuals in their own beautiful right, brightening up her life and those around them. Without them – and their three adoring siblings – she wouldn’t be the woman she was today. Modern Mrs Bennet certainly wouldn’t exist. Yes, they tested her patience and pushed her to limits, but they also rubbed edges off her and forced her to see the world with a new perspective. No, she hadn’t anticipated changing nappies for a whole decade, nor had she envisaged a further nine-month growth project, which had left more stretch marks than a twin pregnancy. But building bite-size Pemberley had been a necessary part of adapting to the increase in female Bennets.
Miss Rosie and Miss Kezia still didn’t say a lot. But there was one word, they both cried excitedly everyday and that was DORA. For some reason, they had latched on to the popular Spanish cartoon character, Dora the Explorer and Mrs Bennet knew it wouldn’t be long before certain Spanish words, like Lo hicimos! (we did it!) and vámonos (let’s go!) popped out of their mouths. Mixed with their own Spagbolese language, it would make interesting listening.
The birthday girls were currently outside in the back garden. Despite its bald patches which like Mr Bennet needed fresh turf in places, it was now a safe area to play in. The garage door, builder’s tools and discarded piping had been removed. Instead various bikes, slides and a toy car provided ample entertainment as did footballs and snails. Miss Rosie was in the driving seat of the only car. Looking on, Miss Kezia obviously wanted a go, and Mrs Bennet knew there was every chance crying would soon break out. Surprisingly though turning two, had made way for a quality she had noticed was growing between the twins: sharing. Without protest, Spag (alias Rosie) got out of the car and opened the door for Bol (alias Kezia) to get in. Mrs Bennet then watched as Spag shut Bol in and walked across the garden, picked up a long stick and proceeded to open up the pretend petrol cap and place the stick in the hole. Once the tank was full, Spa put the cap back on and off Bol went. Well all five inches, as she got stuck on a stone and yelled for her mother.
But it was fascinating viewing. She knew babies were imitators, but watching two little people acting out real life in their own unique way was mesmerizing. Two years ago, they were helpless babes, with the sole aim of demanding attention and feeding at the milk bar. Now they happily entertained themselves, content in each other’s company and greedily lapping up every learning opportunity available. Usually it involved opening cupboards or tattooing themselves in felt tip pen when no one was looking. Yet these two delightful Miss Bennets enveloped Mrs Bennet in their world, forcing her to stop and see the world through their eyes; eyes which couldn’t read the newspapers or watch the news. And really when she took time to appreciate life from their perspective, it really wasn’t bad at all.

Cheese and Marmalade Sandwiches

Monday, May 11 ‘09

“Urghhhhhh,” cried Mrs Bennet, biting into her cheese and chutney sandwich. It was not chutney. It was marmalade, which she didn’t like at the best of times, let alone mixed with cheese. It was like drinking what she thought was coffee and discovering it was tea. At least she liked tea. The error was a consequence of not knowing where anything was in her kitchen. Or more accurately not being able to reach the top shelf in her fridge, which now stood several inches higher than it had done in the old kitchen. Over the past few days, cupboards and appliances had been ripped from one set of walls (now resembling an abstract painting mixed with ceramics), to a new set, pristine clean and canvas blank. Drills and banging had caused the little Miss Bennets to squeal in fright. While Miss Kezia climbed as high as she could up her mother’s legs, Miss Rosie threw herself to the floor as if ducking a bomb. It may be the last chapter in the bite-size Pemberley building project but it was proving the messiest and seemed to have an impact on every ounce of living space. Mrs Bennet felt the last eight months had been like a moving expedition. At least if you moved house it only took a day. This had seemed such a long exhausting process. Yet, she knew it was almost at an end. Once the Darcys in the Dirt had picked up their tools and rubble – currently in what was the garage, but soon to be the children’s playroom – then, and only then could the house start reverting back to being a home. Something it hadn’t been for three years, ever since they first went on the market and the bright coloured walls had been “magnolified,” meaning as a result family photos had been put away. Two children later, they still hadn’t returned due to major disruption, dust and general mayhem.
But time was against the builders. They had just eleven days to finish everything before the carpets were laid ready for Mr No Personality surveyor to return to check bite-size Pemberley was finished. If it wasn't, the building society would not release the money needed to pay for it. At present, alongside discarded books, dolls, plastic animals, hair bands, drawings, scribbles, topless felt tip pens and more worryingly Barbie dolls, there were chainsaws, nails, brackets, screws, hammers, and old kitchen parts in the rooms which weren’t yet finished. Outside it was Skip City. The Bennet’s skip was overflowing, as was the one sitting on next-door’s drive, currently full of rubble ready for a conservatory which had once adjoined the Bennet house. It had once acted as a creative hot house for three eager little artists and occasionally a dining room, when the table was clear enough to see what was being eaten.
Where the conservatory used to be, now stood the new dining room, an official part of the bite-size Pemberley, meaning the temperature was just right for the wife in both summer and winter. Mr Bennet was currently sitting at the table, poured over his laptop, working late yet again. Mrs Bennet wasn’t talking to him right now. He couldn’t engage in conversation anyway and had just told her he would either be flying to Dubai or Iran in the coming week. She really hoped it wouldn’t be the latter. Not only was it worryingly dangerous, but by the time he got his necessary visa, it would mean the trip would clash nicely with half-term and his wife’s mood.
She had noticed since Jannie’s good news, that she had returned to her faithful Mr Latte. She could enjoy his company again. It gave her an excuse to get away from her house, which didn't feel her own right now and as she hadn’t been able to cry in front of the Darcy’s in the Dirt throughout the Jannie worry, she knew it would come pouring out at some point. She just hoped it wouldn’t be in the dentist chair again. She was due to have a tooth out, due to an abscess on Thursday, and being a whimp in the presence of dentists, had every reason to cry. But perhaps the Tooth Fairy might leave her some money – enough to buy a stool so she could at least reach the top shelves and be able to check the jar labels. Oh, and to make sure Mr Bennet hadn’t stored any secret supply of chocolate which he knew would be out of her reach. Of course Mrs Bennet blamed him for the marmalade. He was after all the only one who liked it.
Perhaps she could make him a round of cheese and marmalade sandwiches for work tomorrow and see if he noticed!

Ghosts of kitchens past

Thursday, April 30 09

Ghosts of kitchens past echoed around the walls. It made an interesting sight and one which, in places, required a pair of shades. Whatever had possessed her to paint a kitchen sunshine yellow and sky blue? In her defence, it was a decade ago. An era of rag rolling, sponging and vivid colours which clashed, yet no one had been brave enough to admit their effects were painful to the eye. Or perhaps they hadn’t wanted to offend those who considered them beautiful. At the time, being a creative sort, Mrs Bennet had given her all. Every part of the house had been touched by turquoises, terracotta reds, yellow, vivid blues and sea greens. The gaudy yellow – which had been hidden these past three years by grown-up, sophisticated beige kitchen units – was now once again exposed. Mrs Bennet remembered painting it to hide the mustard offering the owners before her had left behind.
It was 10 years ago. At 29, she hadn’t known what pregnancy meant, hadn’t known her stomach would, over the coming decade, stretch like a contortionist and provide the nurturing home for five offspring. Now at 39, waiting to enter another era, she didn’t like to think what was before her. She was older, greyer, and wrinklier but she had learnt the valuable lesson of living one day at a time. Yet the last seven weeks of watching, waiting and feeling her mother’s pain, had taken its toll. If the biopsy results weren’t good, she wasn’t sure how she could face tomorrow let alone the next 10 years. The unsightly yellow was just that, unsightly, far too bright for her current situation.
The Darcys in the Dirt were dismantling units and moving them to the back of the house. Ironically that morning, the kitchen had looked immaculate and the tidiest it had been since Mr and Mrs Bennet had lived there.
Now it was battered and bruised. Drawers lay on work surfaces, no longer attached to brackets; holes and rubble appeared where they hadn’t been seen before; and unsightly yet impressively large cobwebs were now on show for all to see. A tumble dryer sat in the middle of the lounge, and boxes full of cereals, food, saucepans, oven cleaner, bleach and tea towels were scattered wherever there was an empty floor space. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but it was an exciting place to explore for the little Miss Bennets. They had already attacked one box and enjoyed drumming a few saucepans with wooden spoons.
Mrs Bennet did enjoy having the Darcys in the Dirt around. Spag and Bol willingly accepted them as extra faces to study and grin at. But having her house pulled about whilst her emotions were also experiencing a battering was a further strain on Mrs Bennet’s nerves, if she was honest.
It was biopsy day. And her nerves were in tatters. She had sat in the hospital waiting room for two hours, but had been forced to leave her mum, dad and sister in order to pick up the little Miss Twin Bennets, who were being looked after by a friend. Walking away not knowing, had been awful. Walking into a house, which was feeling the effects of upheaval, echoed her anguish. The phone was relentlessly ringing. She knew it would be Jannie’s friends and her own wanting to know the results. She had no wish to talk to them.
On the fifth call, she felt the need to pick up the receiver.
“It’s me. I just had to ring you myself. It’s the best news I could have had today. It hasn’t spread and they're convinced they’ve caught it all,” the voice of Jannie sang in her ear.
Mrs Bennet didn’t hear anymore. She dissolved into tears. The worry, the weight of what might have been, the waiting, the hoping, erupted into an emotional torrent. Her precious mum, the grandmother of her children, was going to be alright. The bright yellow exposed in her kitchen was now bearable. Mrs Bennet could now even consider it as a sunshine yellow. Her bubble, last seen floating over Bristol had returned. Jannie’s hope was back, and so was hers.