Tuesday, April 13 2010
The bedroom was a hive of sexual activity. The problem was it didn’t involve Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Normally the creak of a floorboard meant a little Miss Bennet was on her way, so any night time activity had to quickly come to an end. But this night time activity wasn’t going to stop despite any interruptions. It was certainly noisy and no doubt passionate but it knocked any romantic notions on the head for the real owners of the bedroom in question. The mice were back. Weeks of silence had ended abruptly. And tonight for some reason the creatures which Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had convinced themselves had disappeared were taking revenge by either inviting their friends in for a party or by practising some loud mating ritual. Either way their antics echoed around the cavity walls where Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were lying. They were so vocal squeaks could be heard until at least three o’clock in the morning. In fact for once Mr. and Mrs. Bennet could make as much noise as they liked if they so desired. But visions of what might be happening behind the wall dampened any passion.
“I reckon that mouse has eaten about five others and is now one gigantic creature. It sounds cat-size, it’s making so much noise,” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet.
“Perhaps it’s in labour,” suggested Mr. Bennet.
Had she been that noisy? She certainly hadn’t squealed. No, they were definitely having a party, thought Mrs. Bennet. Too much fun going on up there and labour was not a word associated with fun. Although there had been funny moments during Miss Megan Bennet’s birth and surreal memories of Hyacinth Bucket appearing on the television screen.
Never once in the 10 years of living in their current house had they had active visitors like this. Yes there had been spiders and nits. But not mice. With the arrival of two more Miss Bennets, the stretch marks had affected not just the mother’s body they once lived in, but the house. And for some reason just before Christmas the rodents had smuggled themselves into the bite-size modern Pemberley and had set up residence in the marital bedroom – the cause for the house growth in the first place.
“What are they doing?” cried Mrs. Bennet as any hope of sleep was destroyed by an almighty bang.
“I don’t know but they’re obviously having a great time,” replied her husband.
Reproducing was clearly not a problem in this particular household. But just because Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had drawn a line under any more Bennet offspring appearing, Mrs. Bennet didn’t think it was right that uninvited occupants in the household could take on the challenge. But obviously now the house was bigger in size, the mice had decided there were more walls to fill. If Mrs. Bennet had the energy she would have thought if you can’t beat them, join them. But her desire for Mr. Sleep was greater. So instead she turned to kiss Mr. Bennet, grabbed her pillow and buried her head under it until the romping faded.
Showing posts with label mr bennet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mr bennet. Show all posts
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
Friday, 29 May 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, 21 May 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, 14 May 2009
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.
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.
Monday, 11 May 2009
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!
“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!
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
More than one punch up
Monday, April 27 ‘09
It was three o’clock in the morning and to say Mrs Bennet was feeling angry was an understatement. She hadn’t gone to bed as early as she had liked because she had had a writing deadline to meet. It was past one o’clock when she finally crawled into bed. Mr Bennet had made his appointment to see Mr Sleep hours before and no crying child would wake him. As Mrs Bennet had missed her appointment, the crying child woke her instead – just as she had eventually drifted off, even though her mind was troubled. The annoying alarm bell wasn’t going to be switched off and it was quickly joined by its neighbouring bell. Mrs Bennet’s head was spinning. She was fuming over everything. Time of the month hormones only served to fuel the rage within. Why was life so cruel at times? Why did it come and bulldoze emotions? Seeing the hurt and pain in her dad’s eyes, and the fear and worry in her mum’s, only echoed her own. She’d taken it out on Mr Bennet that night and accused him of being useless at emotional stuff. Not being one to have angry outbursts, she had surprised herself but the words had slipped out before she could stop them and the man from Mars withdrew to his cave, wounded.
Shortly afterward Miss Bennet Number Three bolted in with a problem he could fix.
“Daddy can you punch up my tyres please? They’re flat and need punching up!” she declared, with hands on hips.
Glad to be able to assist Mr Bennet did the punching required. Mrs Bennet having punched him with words, did apologise later for her unkind words. The truth was she couldn’t cope with emotional pain either. It was far more draining and difficult to handle than anything physical. There were no easy answers and the waiting game was horrid.
It was these raw emotions which surfaced again as Spag and Bol’s demanding cries robbed Mrs Bennet’s appointment with Mr Sleep. Grabbing her pillow she resumed her sandwich position between cots. It worked for one child, but it wasn’t enough for the other, who wanted a drink.
Cold and fed up, Mrs Bennet went on the hunt for a beaker. As the Darcys in the Dirt were taking her kitchen apart in the morning, the cupboards were now empty. Their contents were on the floor in boxes. But at 3am Mrs Bennet couldn’t remember which box contained the cups and drink bottles. She stubbed her toe on a ceramic dish that hadn’t yet found a temporary home and wanted to cry – cry at the mess before her. The upheaval of building bite-size Pemberley epitomized the disruption and disturbance the word cancer achieved with emotions. At this very moment in time she wanted to howl as Rosie was doing so well upstairs. She knew her mum would be up, unable to sleep too. It wasn’t fair. Jannie didn’t deserve this. Her dad didn’t deserve this.
She stood motionless in the midst of the kitchen chaos. The nearly two-year-old's crying suddenly stopped. Fed up with waiting for her mother to return, Miss Bennet Number Four had given up and had fallen asleep. Peace was in the camp. And now her raging had quietened down, Mrs Bennet was also starting to whimper instead of whale. In the coming weeks, the storms would come and go. But despite them, she knew it was vital to hold on to the arms of Peace – and warn Mr Bennet he might be needed as a punch-bag now and then.
It was three o’clock in the morning and to say Mrs Bennet was feeling angry was an understatement. She hadn’t gone to bed as early as she had liked because she had had a writing deadline to meet. It was past one o’clock when she finally crawled into bed. Mr Bennet had made his appointment to see Mr Sleep hours before and no crying child would wake him. As Mrs Bennet had missed her appointment, the crying child woke her instead – just as she had eventually drifted off, even though her mind was troubled. The annoying alarm bell wasn’t going to be switched off and it was quickly joined by its neighbouring bell. Mrs Bennet’s head was spinning. She was fuming over everything. Time of the month hormones only served to fuel the rage within. Why was life so cruel at times? Why did it come and bulldoze emotions? Seeing the hurt and pain in her dad’s eyes, and the fear and worry in her mum’s, only echoed her own. She’d taken it out on Mr Bennet that night and accused him of being useless at emotional stuff. Not being one to have angry outbursts, she had surprised herself but the words had slipped out before she could stop them and the man from Mars withdrew to his cave, wounded.
Shortly afterward Miss Bennet Number Three bolted in with a problem he could fix.
“Daddy can you punch up my tyres please? They’re flat and need punching up!” she declared, with hands on hips.
Glad to be able to assist Mr Bennet did the punching required. Mrs Bennet having punched him with words, did apologise later for her unkind words. The truth was she couldn’t cope with emotional pain either. It was far more draining and difficult to handle than anything physical. There were no easy answers and the waiting game was horrid.
It was these raw emotions which surfaced again as Spag and Bol’s demanding cries robbed Mrs Bennet’s appointment with Mr Sleep. Grabbing her pillow she resumed her sandwich position between cots. It worked for one child, but it wasn’t enough for the other, who wanted a drink.
Cold and fed up, Mrs Bennet went on the hunt for a beaker. As the Darcys in the Dirt were taking her kitchen apart in the morning, the cupboards were now empty. Their contents were on the floor in boxes. But at 3am Mrs Bennet couldn’t remember which box contained the cups and drink bottles. She stubbed her toe on a ceramic dish that hadn’t yet found a temporary home and wanted to cry – cry at the mess before her. The upheaval of building bite-size Pemberley epitomized the disruption and disturbance the word cancer achieved with emotions. At this very moment in time she wanted to howl as Rosie was doing so well upstairs. She knew her mum would be up, unable to sleep too. It wasn’t fair. Jannie didn’t deserve this. Her dad didn’t deserve this.
She stood motionless in the midst of the kitchen chaos. The nearly two-year-old's crying suddenly stopped. Fed up with waiting for her mother to return, Miss Bennet Number Four had given up and had fallen asleep. Peace was in the camp. And now her raging had quietened down, Mrs Bennet was also starting to whimper instead of whale. In the coming weeks, the storms would come and go. But despite them, she knew it was vital to hold on to the arms of Peace – and warn Mr Bennet he might be needed as a punch-bag now and then.
Thursday, 9 April 2009
"I hate ball pools!" declares Mrs Bennet
Wednesday, April 8 09
There were few things Mrs Bennet disliked but those on her list were loathed with a passion. And ball pools were at the top, followed closely by emptying tea bags from a tea pot.
It was the Easter Holidays. Mr Bennet was meeting someone somewhere in Milan. Mrs Bennet was meeting a fellow mum at her favourite place – the local ball pool. A place she normally avoided like the plague particularly during school holidays. But as it was a birthday party for her friend’s two-year-old, a favourite playmate to Spag and Bol, Mrs Bennet had said yes she would come along. She also knew very well that Miss Bennet Numbers One, Two and Three would be delighted at the prospect of running wild and sliding down death slides. Having spent the night on a cold carpet-less floor sandwiched between the twin’s cots, Mrs Bennet was feeling rather tired, grumpy and lacking in patience. She would quite happily have curled up in a ball in her garden shed. But as that still didn’t have any electrics and therefore no heat, Mrs Bennet didn’t think she had any option but to endure a few hours of high pitched squeals and screams.
Between them Mrs Bennet and her friend had nine children – eight girls and one boy - so it proved quite an expensive visit, and that was without the essential coping fuel of Mr Decaf Latte or Mr Cappuccino. The minute she walked through the doors into a cacophony of shouting, crying and piercing shrills; she knew why ball pools were number one on her Mrs Bennet Dislikes List. Miss Bennet Number Five immediately clung to her hip, threw her tiny arms around her neck and whimpered, making it extremely difficult to negotiate Miss Bennet Number Four round café chairs and tables to the toddler play area. Having been a late walker, it was in fact the first time Bol, alias Miss Kezia Bennet, had been properly introduced to a ball pool. A yellow plastic ball hit her on the chin, and like a ten pin, she wobbled over, quickly grasping her mother’s leg as an anchor in the moving sea of coloured balls. Miss Rosie Bennet, slightly more confident, allowed herself to be lowered into the sea, but feeling out of her depth, immediately shouted to be rescued.
Meanwhile, Miss Bennet Number Three, refusing to take off her glasses and proving she was now a big five, literally flew down the death slide – something Mrs Bennet had never plucked up courage to do. Her children took her to places and heights she never dreamt she’d go. But even though they’d taken her to the edge on several occasions, it was up to her whether she actually wanted to throw herself off. May be when she was 40 she’d do it! She had been up in a balloon, parasailed, rock climbed and abseiled in the past so she wasn’t really a wimp. And she’d just promised another female friend, who turned 40 a few hours before she did that she would go to Alton Towers with her, without children. Knowing how adventurous and adrenaline hungry her mate was, she did wonder whether her pelvic floor would recover. Having said that defying the law of gravity might do it good!
The older two Miss Bennets were lost in the medley of ropes and bodies. But they soon appeared, pink-faced and frazzled; one complaining of slide burn, the other complaining about her sister. She decided to help matters by entering the noise hub, and thinking Spag might like a ride on a bumpy slide, proceeded to push and pull the chubby babe up through holes to the top. It helped one complaining daughter laugh. Clutching on to a slightly scared Miss Bennet Number Four, Mrs Bennet proceeded to descend, unaware the slide had been polished extra well this morning. Miss Bennet Number Two watched in awe as her mother literally took off as she went down the first bump, missed the second bump altogether and landed with a thud on the third, thankfully with Spag still in her arms. Shaken but not stirred, Miss Bennet Number Four looked shocked but smiled at the ordeal. Shaken and stirred, Mrs Bennet, somehow managed to get up, rubbed her sore back and vowed not to do that again - well not today anyway.
Within half an hour emotion was rife. Both twins were crying, the middle Miss Bennet whining her siblings didn’t want to play with her and Miss Bennet Number One was still wincing and rubbing her poorly arm. The four children belonging to her friend were however happily running about and thoroughly enjoying themselves without a moan between them. Mrs Bennet longed for her octopus to come and wipe eyes, soothe wounds and lift them all out of the ball pool and transport them to a place of peace, calm and joy.
Two hours later, the invisible octopus arrived. Four children and a mother were relieved. Miss Bennet Number Two was not and blamed everyone else for pulled her out of the ball jungle before she was ready. Mrs Bennet breathed a sigh of relief, strapped the Miss Bennets in their seats, and put her head on the steering wheel. She then sent a text to her husband, who was child-free in Italy.
“I HATE BALL POOLS! Just thought you might like to know!” she tapped into her phone. After eating a waiter-served Italian meal, accompanied by proper adult conversation, when sentences were finished and food was enjoyed hot, Mr Bennet sent his thoughts on the subject.
“Oh come on, all that screaming and noise, you love it really!”
She did not reply. Instead as Miss Bennet Number Three was due to return to Mrs Bennet’s torture chamber on Saturday for a party, she made up her mind that Mr Bennet would be taking their daughter. He could also remove every tea bag for the next decade as his punishment for flying abroad to a different country three weeks running.
There were few things Mrs Bennet disliked but those on her list were loathed with a passion. And ball pools were at the top, followed closely by emptying tea bags from a tea pot.
It was the Easter Holidays. Mr Bennet was meeting someone somewhere in Milan. Mrs Bennet was meeting a fellow mum at her favourite place – the local ball pool. A place she normally avoided like the plague particularly during school holidays. But as it was a birthday party for her friend’s two-year-old, a favourite playmate to Spag and Bol, Mrs Bennet had said yes she would come along. She also knew very well that Miss Bennet Numbers One, Two and Three would be delighted at the prospect of running wild and sliding down death slides. Having spent the night on a cold carpet-less floor sandwiched between the twin’s cots, Mrs Bennet was feeling rather tired, grumpy and lacking in patience. She would quite happily have curled up in a ball in her garden shed. But as that still didn’t have any electrics and therefore no heat, Mrs Bennet didn’t think she had any option but to endure a few hours of high pitched squeals and screams.
Between them Mrs Bennet and her friend had nine children – eight girls and one boy - so it proved quite an expensive visit, and that was without the essential coping fuel of Mr Decaf Latte or Mr Cappuccino. The minute she walked through the doors into a cacophony of shouting, crying and piercing shrills; she knew why ball pools were number one on her Mrs Bennet Dislikes List. Miss Bennet Number Five immediately clung to her hip, threw her tiny arms around her neck and whimpered, making it extremely difficult to negotiate Miss Bennet Number Four round café chairs and tables to the toddler play area. Having been a late walker, it was in fact the first time Bol, alias Miss Kezia Bennet, had been properly introduced to a ball pool. A yellow plastic ball hit her on the chin, and like a ten pin, she wobbled over, quickly grasping her mother’s leg as an anchor in the moving sea of coloured balls. Miss Rosie Bennet, slightly more confident, allowed herself to be lowered into the sea, but feeling out of her depth, immediately shouted to be rescued.
Meanwhile, Miss Bennet Number Three, refusing to take off her glasses and proving she was now a big five, literally flew down the death slide – something Mrs Bennet had never plucked up courage to do. Her children took her to places and heights she never dreamt she’d go. But even though they’d taken her to the edge on several occasions, it was up to her whether she actually wanted to throw herself off. May be when she was 40 she’d do it! She had been up in a balloon, parasailed, rock climbed and abseiled in the past so she wasn’t really a wimp. And she’d just promised another female friend, who turned 40 a few hours before she did that she would go to Alton Towers with her, without children. Knowing how adventurous and adrenaline hungry her mate was, she did wonder whether her pelvic floor would recover. Having said that defying the law of gravity might do it good!
The older two Miss Bennets were lost in the medley of ropes and bodies. But they soon appeared, pink-faced and frazzled; one complaining of slide burn, the other complaining about her sister. She decided to help matters by entering the noise hub, and thinking Spag might like a ride on a bumpy slide, proceeded to push and pull the chubby babe up through holes to the top. It helped one complaining daughter laugh. Clutching on to a slightly scared Miss Bennet Number Four, Mrs Bennet proceeded to descend, unaware the slide had been polished extra well this morning. Miss Bennet Number Two watched in awe as her mother literally took off as she went down the first bump, missed the second bump altogether and landed with a thud on the third, thankfully with Spag still in her arms. Shaken but not stirred, Miss Bennet Number Four looked shocked but smiled at the ordeal. Shaken and stirred, Mrs Bennet, somehow managed to get up, rubbed her sore back and vowed not to do that again - well not today anyway.
Within half an hour emotion was rife. Both twins were crying, the middle Miss Bennet whining her siblings didn’t want to play with her and Miss Bennet Number One was still wincing and rubbing her poorly arm. The four children belonging to her friend were however happily running about and thoroughly enjoying themselves without a moan between them. Mrs Bennet longed for her octopus to come and wipe eyes, soothe wounds and lift them all out of the ball pool and transport them to a place of peace, calm and joy.
Two hours later, the invisible octopus arrived. Four children and a mother were relieved. Miss Bennet Number Two was not and blamed everyone else for pulled her out of the ball jungle before she was ready. Mrs Bennet breathed a sigh of relief, strapped the Miss Bennets in their seats, and put her head on the steering wheel. She then sent a text to her husband, who was child-free in Italy.
“I HATE BALL POOLS! Just thought you might like to know!” she tapped into her phone. After eating a waiter-served Italian meal, accompanied by proper adult conversation, when sentences were finished and food was enjoyed hot, Mr Bennet sent his thoughts on the subject.
“Oh come on, all that screaming and noise, you love it really!”
She did not reply. Instead as Miss Bennet Number Three was due to return to Mrs Bennet’s torture chamber on Saturday for a party, she made up her mind that Mr Bennet would be taking their daughter. He could also remove every tea bag for the next decade as his punishment for flying abroad to a different country three weeks running.
Saturday, 4 April 2009
That tooth fairy again...
Thursday, April 2 09
“She didn’t come Mummy,” declared a very forlorn Miss Bennet Number Two as she emerged from her quilt cocoon.
“Who didn’t?” mumbled a half-asleep Mrs Bennet, grateful her friend had just rung her mobile to act as a wake-up call.
“The tooth fairy. She didn’t leave me anything and she didn’t take my tooth either,” replied her toothless daughter.
Mrs Bennet inwardly kicked herself. Emotionally she wasn't yet ready to write about it but life was so surreal right now, the tooth fairy obviously had her mind on other matters and as the male tooth fairy was away on business abroad, he hadn’t reminded his companion to fetch the all-important molar.
“I remember when I was a little girl that the tooth fairy forgot to visit me one night, so I put the tooth back under my pillow and she ended up giving me double the money the next. So don’t worry,” replied Mrs Bennet.
Mr Bennet was in Lyon. Next week he was flying to Milan and the following week he was heading off to Dubai. He was probably doing more mileage than the Bennet tooth fairy. This morning it was lucky the children were awake. Mrs Bennet had forgotten to put her own alarm clock forward an hour. It suddenly made all the little Bennets jump when it sprang into action at 8.20am. It was just as well Mrs Bennet’s friend had called. She knew mornings were not Mrs Bennet’s strong point.
Meanwhile bite-size Pemberley was still not finished. The lounge was currently out of action due to a face-lift operation, leaving nowhere for Spag and Bol to play - although they would have quite happily have reenacted sword fights with paintbrushes smothered in turps if allowed. With their playground out of bounds it meant Mrs Bennet had to time it so she arrived back at the house ready for their lunch-time nap, get them up promptly at 2.50pm and out of the door to pick their sisters up from school.
Right now though her priority, as well as clearing the lounge, getting two nappies on two bottoms, clothes on six bodies, five heads of hair brushed (hers just warranted a bit of gel), finding twelve matching shoes and socks, three book bags, three lunch boxes, a nappy bag with adequate supplies and a set of car keys, was to fix the tooth fairy issue. Miraculously a coin appeared on the front door, stuck there by a piece of Sellotape.
It was Miss Bennet Number Three who discovered it.
“Mummy, what’s that on the door?!” she inquired.
“I don’t know love, ask Emily.” To which toothless Miss Bennet Number Two was quickly summoned to the front door and asked to examine the mysterious object.
“Look Mummy, she did come after all but obviously ran out of time and didn’t get chance to take my tooth!” declared a delighted daughter.
“Perhaps with all the building work, she was too scared to go upstairs afraid the builders were still there,” replied Mrs Bennet.
“I’m still going to leave my tooth under my pillow to see if she comes back for it, “said the toothless one.
Following the sad saga of her own tooth problem in the summer, the pain had returned which her new dentist (the young dishy Darcy one had left) had informed her this week was in fact an abscess. There was no chance of saving the tooth and it would have to come out. Mrs Bennet did wonder whether the tooth fairy would visit her when the time came and perhaps leave £30,000 so they could finish bite-size Pemberley as originally intended. She could but wish.
As the male tooth fairy had returned from Lyon, she prodded him at 1am and asked him to kindly go and see to the tiny tooth which lay underneath a top bunk pillow. As he did so, Spag, Miss Bennet Number Four, cried out. While her elder sister had lost her baby tooth, hers was coming in and she didn’t like it too much. Mrs Bennet didn’t like the pain hers was causing either, so grabbed a pain killer, rolled over and dreamt about drills.
“She didn’t come Mummy,” declared a very forlorn Miss Bennet Number Two as she emerged from her quilt cocoon.
“Who didn’t?” mumbled a half-asleep Mrs Bennet, grateful her friend had just rung her mobile to act as a wake-up call.
“The tooth fairy. She didn’t leave me anything and she didn’t take my tooth either,” replied her toothless daughter.
Mrs Bennet inwardly kicked herself. Emotionally she wasn't yet ready to write about it but life was so surreal right now, the tooth fairy obviously had her mind on other matters and as the male tooth fairy was away on business abroad, he hadn’t reminded his companion to fetch the all-important molar.
“I remember when I was a little girl that the tooth fairy forgot to visit me one night, so I put the tooth back under my pillow and she ended up giving me double the money the next. So don’t worry,” replied Mrs Bennet.
Mr Bennet was in Lyon. Next week he was flying to Milan and the following week he was heading off to Dubai. He was probably doing more mileage than the Bennet tooth fairy. This morning it was lucky the children were awake. Mrs Bennet had forgotten to put her own alarm clock forward an hour. It suddenly made all the little Bennets jump when it sprang into action at 8.20am. It was just as well Mrs Bennet’s friend had called. She knew mornings were not Mrs Bennet’s strong point.
Meanwhile bite-size Pemberley was still not finished. The lounge was currently out of action due to a face-lift operation, leaving nowhere for Spag and Bol to play - although they would have quite happily have reenacted sword fights with paintbrushes smothered in turps if allowed. With their playground out of bounds it meant Mrs Bennet had to time it so she arrived back at the house ready for their lunch-time nap, get them up promptly at 2.50pm and out of the door to pick their sisters up from school.
Right now though her priority, as well as clearing the lounge, getting two nappies on two bottoms, clothes on six bodies, five heads of hair brushed (hers just warranted a bit of gel), finding twelve matching shoes and socks, three book bags, three lunch boxes, a nappy bag with adequate supplies and a set of car keys, was to fix the tooth fairy issue. Miraculously a coin appeared on the front door, stuck there by a piece of Sellotape.
It was Miss Bennet Number Three who discovered it.
“Mummy, what’s that on the door?!” she inquired.
“I don’t know love, ask Emily.” To which toothless Miss Bennet Number Two was quickly summoned to the front door and asked to examine the mysterious object.
“Look Mummy, she did come after all but obviously ran out of time and didn’t get chance to take my tooth!” declared a delighted daughter.
“Perhaps with all the building work, she was too scared to go upstairs afraid the builders were still there,” replied Mrs Bennet.
“I’m still going to leave my tooth under my pillow to see if she comes back for it, “said the toothless one.
Following the sad saga of her own tooth problem in the summer, the pain had returned which her new dentist (the young dishy Darcy one had left) had informed her this week was in fact an abscess. There was no chance of saving the tooth and it would have to come out. Mrs Bennet did wonder whether the tooth fairy would visit her when the time came and perhaps leave £30,000 so they could finish bite-size Pemberley as originally intended. She could but wish.
As the male tooth fairy had returned from Lyon, she prodded him at 1am and asked him to kindly go and see to the tiny tooth which lay underneath a top bunk pillow. As he did so, Spag, Miss Bennet Number Four, cried out. While her elder sister had lost her baby tooth, hers was coming in and she didn’t like it too much. Mrs Bennet didn’t like the pain hers was causing either, so grabbed a pain killer, rolled over and dreamt about drills.
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Spag and Bol
Thursday, March 26 '09
Spag and Bol were a pair of comedians. They were poles apart in many respects, yet they had one delightful attribute in common - a sense of humour. Mrs Bennet affectionately referred to them as Spag and Bol (although not to their faces) simply because they were like the combination Spaghetti Bolognese: different components, yet together a delicious item. Miss Bennets Numbers Four and Five were Mrs Bennet's gin and tonic. They kept her going and never failed to make her smile or laugh no matter how stressed, hormonal or sleep-deprived she might feel.
Mrs Bennet was crouched down behind Spag and Bol's bedroom door with her radio microphone held to the gap. They were doing what they did best - an excellent impression of two animated old ladies leaning over the garden fence. Both girls were holding on to their respective cot bars bouncing up and down and giggling at each other.
"Woobedooodeegoooaaahhh. Goodeeebaaa?"
"Woobedoooo, ahhhh."
"Hee hee, hee hee."
From an audio point of view, it reminded Mrs Bennet of The Clangers or Bill and Ben. Mrs Bennet thought she was probably the Soup Dragon or Weed, as the two lead characters always got suitably excited when she appeared. Her hand wobbled from holding the microphone still for so long, but she had what she needed. This was Spagbolese - the Bennet twins' official language. A language which excluded their mother, who hadn't been given a Spagbolese dictionary. The authors however were fluent and felt they didn't need to learn English. Oh, they knew what Mrs Bennet said alright. When she said: "OK girls time to go up," they proceeded to climb the stairs as fast as their little legs could take them. Over the past few months they'd uttered Mummy, Daddy, gone, baby, down, up, Kezzie, Jannie, bath, biscuit etc. but apart from the first two words, they had said these only once and refused point blank with a "no" and a nod of the head to repeat them. Kezia Bennet had even announced "see you soon," after hearing a toy phone declare the sentiment. But no matter how hard Mrs Bennet tried to persuade her to repeat it, Bol kept her lips sealed. Both twins were forever chatting and singing in Spagbolese and Mrs Bennet wondered if she should try and learn it for herself, because whilst her nearly two-year-olds had a vast vocabulary, it was unfortunately not understood by anyone else.
"Your child should now have a vocabulary of about 200 words," a recent email had informed her. If it had referred to Miss Bennet Number Three at 22 months, then it would have been quite accurate.
"Mmm..two more like," she muttered, "What do they know? And what do i know more like, I've never had twins before." She wasn't too worried though. She'd met up with two fellow twin mums and their boy/girl combinations were conversing in a similar way. The boys took great delight in pulling their sisters' hair on a daily basis. Mrss Bennet hadn't had this issue to deal with, but Spag and Bol were far from perfect. Their comical tendencies just outweighed the strops and mini scraps which sometimes broke out over a toy pushchair.
Mrs Bennet put her recording equipment away and decided to do something creative with the sound effects, perhaps presenting it to her daughters in 16 years time.
At six o'clock, the time when World War III was at its most dangerous, Mr Bennet came home.
"Woobedegoootea,do bego?" Mrs Bennet asked him.
"Sorry...."
"My dear, it's a new language. It's "do you want a cup of tea," in Spagbolese."
"Never heard of it, but yes please," he replied.
"Well we had better both start learning it. It's been devised by our youngest daughters who already have an A level in it."
As if on cue, Spag and Bol burst through the lounge door, ran to Mr Bennet and proceeded to excitedly babble away in Spagbolese.
Spag and Bol were a pair of comedians. They were poles apart in many respects, yet they had one delightful attribute in common - a sense of humour. Mrs Bennet affectionately referred to them as Spag and Bol (although not to their faces) simply because they were like the combination Spaghetti Bolognese: different components, yet together a delicious item. Miss Bennets Numbers Four and Five were Mrs Bennet's gin and tonic. They kept her going and never failed to make her smile or laugh no matter how stressed, hormonal or sleep-deprived she might feel.
Mrs Bennet was crouched down behind Spag and Bol's bedroom door with her radio microphone held to the gap. They were doing what they did best - an excellent impression of two animated old ladies leaning over the garden fence. Both girls were holding on to their respective cot bars bouncing up and down and giggling at each other.
"Woobedooodeegoooaaahhh. Goodeeebaaa?"
"Woobedoooo, ahhhh."
"Hee hee, hee hee."
From an audio point of view, it reminded Mrs Bennet of The Clangers or Bill and Ben. Mrs Bennet thought she was probably the Soup Dragon or Weed, as the two lead characters always got suitably excited when she appeared. Her hand wobbled from holding the microphone still for so long, but she had what she needed. This was Spagbolese - the Bennet twins' official language. A language which excluded their mother, who hadn't been given a Spagbolese dictionary. The authors however were fluent and felt they didn't need to learn English. Oh, they knew what Mrs Bennet said alright. When she said: "OK girls time to go up," they proceeded to climb the stairs as fast as their little legs could take them. Over the past few months they'd uttered Mummy, Daddy, gone, baby, down, up, Kezzie, Jannie, bath, biscuit etc. but apart from the first two words, they had said these only once and refused point blank with a "no" and a nod of the head to repeat them. Kezia Bennet had even announced "see you soon," after hearing a toy phone declare the sentiment. But no matter how hard Mrs Bennet tried to persuade her to repeat it, Bol kept her lips sealed. Both twins were forever chatting and singing in Spagbolese and Mrs Bennet wondered if she should try and learn it for herself, because whilst her nearly two-year-olds had a vast vocabulary, it was unfortunately not understood by anyone else.
"Your child should now have a vocabulary of about 200 words," a recent email had informed her. If it had referred to Miss Bennet Number Three at 22 months, then it would have been quite accurate.
"Mmm..two more like," she muttered, "What do they know? And what do i know more like, I've never had twins before." She wasn't too worried though. She'd met up with two fellow twin mums and their boy/girl combinations were conversing in a similar way. The boys took great delight in pulling their sisters' hair on a daily basis. Mrss Bennet hadn't had this issue to deal with, but Spag and Bol were far from perfect. Their comical tendencies just outweighed the strops and mini scraps which sometimes broke out over a toy pushchair.
Mrs Bennet put her recording equipment away and decided to do something creative with the sound effects, perhaps presenting it to her daughters in 16 years time.
At six o'clock, the time when World War III was at its most dangerous, Mr Bennet came home.
"Woobedegoootea,do bego?" Mrs Bennet asked him.
"Sorry...."
"My dear, it's a new language. It's "do you want a cup of tea," in Spagbolese."
"Never heard of it, but yes please," he replied.
"Well we had better both start learning it. It's been devised by our youngest daughters who already have an A level in it."
As if on cue, Spag and Bol burst through the lounge door, ran to Mr Bennet and proceeded to excitedly babble away in Spagbolese.
Friday, 13 March 2009
Knocked out by Chicken Tonight
Friday, March 13 ‘09
Mrs Bennet rubbed her head. It hurt and had a funny spongy feel when she pressed it. The Chicken Tonight had done a good job and had almost knocked her out. She was only looking in the cupboard to see what she could cook for the Bennet’s nightly nosh and promptly got attacked by a bottle of Soya sauce. In ducking her head, while her hand skilfully caught the falling bottle, a jar of Chicken Tonight creamy mushroom sauce had walloped her where the Soya sauce had missed and stunned her momentarily. Half an hour later she was at the school gate, with chirping twins, still feeling out of it. Mind you it was a feeling she felt regularly these days.
Before marriage and babies, Mrs Bennet had been a morning bird. Up at six and in bed by 10pm on the nights she wasn’t working. Nowadays, she was often rudely woken up by a five-year old, demanding where her school tights were, or a Mr Bennet politely informing her he was now leaving the building and perhaps it would be a good idea if she surfaced. It was a miracle how she ever left the building herself and she hoped the teachers didn’t notice that she’d missed brushing one of the Miss Bennet’s hair or that their shoes hadn’t been polished for quite a while now. She was lucky to get to bed before 1am. With five packed lunches to prepare, school books to write in, trip money to find, nappy bags to stock up, toys to put away and her own work deadlines to meet, Mrs Bennet would often find the bath water she ran two hours before, stone cold; but not wanting to waste it, washed herself in it anyway before crawling into bed exhausted.
“You must get to bed earlier. I’m concerned about you,” said her husband on a rare date out at a local restaurant. Going to bed earlier was not a passionate invitation by the way.
“You’re always on the computer working when you get a spare moment. You never watch the television or sit down and read the paper! If you went to bed earlier, you’d get up a lot fresher,” he declared.
And of course he was quite right, but she was in a Catch 22 situation. It was a chicken (tonight) and egg case. It didn’t help that she disliked living in her house right now. Six months on – although the extension was built, it wasn’t in a liveable state and the Bennet septuplets, cooped up in the living room womb desperately wanted to be born into a bigger world. For the past two weeks a strange and eerie silence had enveloped the bite-size Pemberley. As the mortgage hadn’t yet been cleared, the money wasn’t available to finish what could be finished and as the Darcys in the Dirt were going through what could only be described as a “family crisis,” the work had quite suddenly come to a halt. One of the Darcys had in fact run away and if the truth be known, Mrs Bennet was rather concerned about him, as were his colleagues. But at risk of upsetting them, she pledged not to elaborate any further.
But today with her Chicken Tonight egg head pounding like a chick desperate to break through its shell, Mrs Bennet faced a sudden surge of activity. The sub-contractor Darcys were back. This time to drill holes in the lounge and ceiling to sort out the electrics. Dishy and charming as they were, Mrs Bennet couldn’t handle any more disruption. She knew she had no choice, but she also had nowhere to go. The little Miss Twin Bennets – who she now affectionately called Spag and Bol – were giggling loudly cot to cot, showing how much they intended to have their lunchtime nap. Mrs Bennet walked in as they shouted in unison: “Mummy!” The whiff of dirty nappy gave her the information she needed. Spag – the older twin was not going to settle until she was cleaned up.
Mrs Bennet knew the power was about to be turned off, so got to work before she couldn’t see what she was doing. A knock at the door, followed by a
“There’s a man here to pick up the scaffolding!” made her work extra fast. Putting Spag back in her cot, she ran down the stairs with her smelly present in hand.
It was times like this she felt like swearing. But as she didn’t know any appropriate words, she muttered “Sugar!” and went outside to sort out Mr Scaffolding.
Jannie, Mrs Bennet’s mum was clutching a mug of Mr Peely Wally (hot water) and watching the circus of activity move around her.
“Why don’t you go off for a break,” she urged Mrs Bennet, convinced her mother was an angel in disguise.
Glad of the invitation. Mrs Bennet handed in her RSVP and ran out the door. Her Chicken Tonight egg head finally hatched, relieving the pressure on her brain. Perhaps she would think straight again.
“I may not come back!” she shouted as she tripped over her feet and landed on her face. Perhaps the Chicken Tonight had done more damage than she had feared. She vowed to take revenge and watch it bubble away in the oven when she got back.
Mrs Bennet rubbed her head. It hurt and had a funny spongy feel when she pressed it. The Chicken Tonight had done a good job and had almost knocked her out. She was only looking in the cupboard to see what she could cook for the Bennet’s nightly nosh and promptly got attacked by a bottle of Soya sauce. In ducking her head, while her hand skilfully caught the falling bottle, a jar of Chicken Tonight creamy mushroom sauce had walloped her where the Soya sauce had missed and stunned her momentarily. Half an hour later she was at the school gate, with chirping twins, still feeling out of it. Mind you it was a feeling she felt regularly these days.
Before marriage and babies, Mrs Bennet had been a morning bird. Up at six and in bed by 10pm on the nights she wasn’t working. Nowadays, she was often rudely woken up by a five-year old, demanding where her school tights were, or a Mr Bennet politely informing her he was now leaving the building and perhaps it would be a good idea if she surfaced. It was a miracle how she ever left the building herself and she hoped the teachers didn’t notice that she’d missed brushing one of the Miss Bennet’s hair or that their shoes hadn’t been polished for quite a while now. She was lucky to get to bed before 1am. With five packed lunches to prepare, school books to write in, trip money to find, nappy bags to stock up, toys to put away and her own work deadlines to meet, Mrs Bennet would often find the bath water she ran two hours before, stone cold; but not wanting to waste it, washed herself in it anyway before crawling into bed exhausted.
“You must get to bed earlier. I’m concerned about you,” said her husband on a rare date out at a local restaurant. Going to bed earlier was not a passionate invitation by the way.
“You’re always on the computer working when you get a spare moment. You never watch the television or sit down and read the paper! If you went to bed earlier, you’d get up a lot fresher,” he declared.
And of course he was quite right, but she was in a Catch 22 situation. It was a chicken (tonight) and egg case. It didn’t help that she disliked living in her house right now. Six months on – although the extension was built, it wasn’t in a liveable state and the Bennet septuplets, cooped up in the living room womb desperately wanted to be born into a bigger world. For the past two weeks a strange and eerie silence had enveloped the bite-size Pemberley. As the mortgage hadn’t yet been cleared, the money wasn’t available to finish what could be finished and as the Darcys in the Dirt were going through what could only be described as a “family crisis,” the work had quite suddenly come to a halt. One of the Darcys had in fact run away and if the truth be known, Mrs Bennet was rather concerned about him, as were his colleagues. But at risk of upsetting them, she pledged not to elaborate any further.
But today with her Chicken Tonight egg head pounding like a chick desperate to break through its shell, Mrs Bennet faced a sudden surge of activity. The sub-contractor Darcys were back. This time to drill holes in the lounge and ceiling to sort out the electrics. Dishy and charming as they were, Mrs Bennet couldn’t handle any more disruption. She knew she had no choice, but she also had nowhere to go. The little Miss Twin Bennets – who she now affectionately called Spag and Bol – were giggling loudly cot to cot, showing how much they intended to have their lunchtime nap. Mrs Bennet walked in as they shouted in unison: “Mummy!” The whiff of dirty nappy gave her the information she needed. Spag – the older twin was not going to settle until she was cleaned up.
Mrs Bennet knew the power was about to be turned off, so got to work before she couldn’t see what she was doing. A knock at the door, followed by a
“There’s a man here to pick up the scaffolding!” made her work extra fast. Putting Spag back in her cot, she ran down the stairs with her smelly present in hand.
It was times like this she felt like swearing. But as she didn’t know any appropriate words, she muttered “Sugar!” and went outside to sort out Mr Scaffolding.
Jannie, Mrs Bennet’s mum was clutching a mug of Mr Peely Wally (hot water) and watching the circus of activity move around her.
“Why don’t you go off for a break,” she urged Mrs Bennet, convinced her mother was an angel in disguise.
Glad of the invitation. Mrs Bennet handed in her RSVP and ran out the door. Her Chicken Tonight egg head finally hatched, relieving the pressure on her brain. Perhaps she would think straight again.
“I may not come back!” she shouted as she tripped over her feet and landed on her face. Perhaps the Chicken Tonight had done more damage than she had feared. She vowed to take revenge and watch it bubble away in the oven when she got back.
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