Monday, March 15 ‘10
There were two different kinds of bottoms in bite-size Modern Pemberley: the ones who were pro-potty and the ones who, if Mrs. Bennet allowed, would still be wearing nappies until they were 18. Four bottoms were trained. One bottom was not. And the untrained bot was quite clearly very happy to stay that way. She saw no need for it but was quite happy for her twin-bottomed-pal to enjoy her new-found independence.
To be honest Mrs. Bennet didn’t like potty training. Miss Megan Bennet had been somewhat later than her older siblings due to the fact that the massive double bump had prevented her mother from getting anywhere near the floor to a) reach the potty or bottom in question and b) clear up any spillages or deposits. The thought therefore of training two little derrieres at the same time did not fill Mrs. Bennet with joy.
But in the past few weeks something extraordinary happened with Miss Bennet Number Five. The smallest twin, known affectionately in written fashion as Bol, and Gorgeous in spoken form; decided to potty train herself. So efficient was this tiny dot, that not only did she take herself to the potty when she needed to go, but she wiped herself with a toilet roll put down by her side, emptied the contents into the toilet (without spilling any), climbed on to the side of her sister’s no-chance-of-anything-getting-in-here-potty, reached the flush, pressed the button, climbed down and then proceeded to wash her hands using the bath taps, pulled her pants and trousers up and did a little run and jump to end the routine. Mrs. Bennet was stunned by this spurt of independence and hoped that it would rub off onto Miss Bennet Number Four. But so far, nothing. Spag, as this twin was known on paper, Fantastic to her face, showed no sign of following.
“Well done Bubba!” she frequently yelled, accompanied by a clap. Bubba was the affectionate name Rosie gave her sister. Never once had she called her Kezia. Bubba was her name and probably would be for the rest of her life. Using the toilet or potty, dressing herself, walking everywhere and helping Mummy was a Kezia thing, not a Rosie thing. In Rosie’s world, one drew faces and people, used lots of bright coloured felt tips all day long, got pushed around in pushchairs, was dressed by Mummy only and didn’t go anywhere near a bathroom unless lifted into the bath.
These two children may share a birthday and a womb, but they were so refreshingly different that even Mrs. Bennet found it hard to believe they were twins. Miss Kezia was a mini Miss Bennet Number Two and Miss Rosie was a mini Miss Bennet Number One or Three. Miss Emily, daughter number two was Mrs. Bennet’s memory stick. She remembered every detail her mother was likely to forget. And Miss Kezia was fast becoming her back-up or hard-drive.
Only the other day Mrs. Bennet in sorting out the washing had made seven piles ready to take to the corresponding drawers, to discover one had disappeared. Without being told, the pile had been delivered to the correct landing spot by a two-year-old! Mrs. Bennet wasn’t sure how she managed to produce such a young and enthusiastic laundry helper when her older siblings just watched and let their mother get on with it.
“Please watch Kezia and take note everyone!” she remarked. But only Miss Bennet Number Two took notice. Mr. Bennet was now in Japan, so couldn’t. But he left his washing behind anyway.
Mrs. Bennet marvelled at the diversity within her household. Life was never dull. Sitting at her toddler table, drawing perfectly formed people, complete with bodies and head hair, her elder twin was now dressed in a fairy dress with a winter bobble hat on her head while her sister waddled pant-less towards the downstairs bathroom with potty in hand refusing any help. Mrs. Bennet’s nappy days were almost coming to an end. But somehow she knew there were a few more dirty bottoms in store for her yet.
Showing posts with label nappy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nappy. Show all posts
Monday, 15 March 2010
Thursday, 16 April 2009
Wiped out by wet wipes
Thursday, April 16 09
While Mr Bennet was flying at 30,000 feet to Dubai and Miss Emily Bennet was flying on rides round Legoland with a friend, Miss Rosie Bennet was supposed to be having her lunchtime nap. After the usual chit chat and giggles between Spag and Bol, silence had fallen in the little Twin Bennet’s room. Mrs Bennet understandably thought they were both asleep. She was busy making their favourite namesake dish, Spaghetti Bolognese along with a large batch of Shepherd’s Pie, to be frozen ready for hospital visits and operation recovery.
Miss Rosie Bennet didn’t drop off as easily as her sister and being in a playful mood, managed to haul the pack of wet wipes her mother had just opened, through her cot bars. Feeling in the need of a wash, she had proceeded to yank out virtually every wet wipe the packet contained, before falling asleep.
Mrs Bennet found her in a pool of wet wipe juice. Spag’s clothes and bedding were soaking wet and she was surrounded by a cushion of drying out wipes.
“Oh Rosie, what am I going to do with you!” exclaimed Mrs Bennet, scooping up her wet wipe babe with one arm and gathering an armful of soggy white squares with the other.
Amused by the scene, Miss Kezia Bennet pointed her index finger at her sister and giggled infectiously like an animated rocking Bag of Laughter.
Mrs Bennet had no choice but to strip Spag naked. But even with clean clothes, she carried the distinct aroma of a wet wipe. At least she hadn’t got a fetish for eating them. One of her friend’s sons had swallowed a whole one when he was a few months old. She only knew this because she found it rolled up in his nappy deposit the next day!
Although the unpredictable brought the scary, it brought the ridiculous as well. And it was the latter which made the harder issues in life more tolerable. It was the mundane, every day things which kept a mother going. And as wiped out as she was, Mrs Bennet couldn’t help but smile at the comedian in her children. At times she dared to live out the “what if?” she saw in the Miss Bennets. Miss Rosie Bennet now knew what happened when she pulled out 70 wet wipes – she got wet. Mrs Bennet pondered. What if she lived as if there was nothing to worry about? It would make life far more enjoyable. And actually some of the biggies, the sharks which threatened to bite you on the bottom, were often not as bad as the fear of them. Fear had a lot to say for itself. It had a bad report and it was about time the faith part of Mrs Bennet had a greater say. Wiped out she may be in terms of sleep deprivation. Knocked out never.
While Mr Bennet was flying at 30,000 feet to Dubai and Miss Emily Bennet was flying on rides round Legoland with a friend, Miss Rosie Bennet was supposed to be having her lunchtime nap. After the usual chit chat and giggles between Spag and Bol, silence had fallen in the little Twin Bennet’s room. Mrs Bennet understandably thought they were both asleep. She was busy making their favourite namesake dish, Spaghetti Bolognese along with a large batch of Shepherd’s Pie, to be frozen ready for hospital visits and operation recovery.
Miss Rosie Bennet didn’t drop off as easily as her sister and being in a playful mood, managed to haul the pack of wet wipes her mother had just opened, through her cot bars. Feeling in the need of a wash, she had proceeded to yank out virtually every wet wipe the packet contained, before falling asleep.
Mrs Bennet found her in a pool of wet wipe juice. Spag’s clothes and bedding were soaking wet and she was surrounded by a cushion of drying out wipes.
“Oh Rosie, what am I going to do with you!” exclaimed Mrs Bennet, scooping up her wet wipe babe with one arm and gathering an armful of soggy white squares with the other.
Amused by the scene, Miss Kezia Bennet pointed her index finger at her sister and giggled infectiously like an animated rocking Bag of Laughter.
Mrs Bennet had no choice but to strip Spag naked. But even with clean clothes, she carried the distinct aroma of a wet wipe. At least she hadn’t got a fetish for eating them. One of her friend’s sons had swallowed a whole one when he was a few months old. She only knew this because she found it rolled up in his nappy deposit the next day!
Although the unpredictable brought the scary, it brought the ridiculous as well. And it was the latter which made the harder issues in life more tolerable. It was the mundane, every day things which kept a mother going. And as wiped out as she was, Mrs Bennet couldn’t help but smile at the comedian in her children. At times she dared to live out the “what if?” she saw in the Miss Bennets. Miss Rosie Bennet now knew what happened when she pulled out 70 wet wipes – she got wet. Mrs Bennet pondered. What if she lived as if there was nothing to worry about? It would make life far more enjoyable. And actually some of the biggies, the sharks which threatened to bite you on the bottom, were often not as bad as the fear of them. Fear had a lot to say for itself. It had a bad report and it was about time the faith part of Mrs Bennet had a greater say. Wiped out she may be in terms of sleep deprivation. Knocked out never.
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Cat food aisle proves festive refuge
Tuesday, December 23 08
It was the morning before the morning before Christmas and Mrs Bennet was sleep deprived. She’d just wiped cream all over her face to discover it wasn’t cream at all, but hair gel. Half asleep, her eyes hadn’t registered the difference in the two pots. But her skin quickly did when the stinging started. It was with a certain red glow about her person, that she made another mistake – venturing into a certain supermarket with the twin Bennets due to a desperate need for wet wipes and nappies. She hadn’t meant to leave supplies so empty, but festivities, present hunting, wrapping, delivering, card writing, visiting and nursing poorly children had been her main pre-occupation. It was only when the twins were wearing the last nappies in the house, she realised something had to be done. She didn’t want to be caught short like last month, when Miss Rosie Bennet had been wearing a make-shift nappy – a t-towel of the Scottish Highlands, knotted either side of her hips – because once cleaning a rather dirty derriere, Mrs Bennet realised she had nothing to put on it.
Running on empty was something she was guilty of doing as was running out of nappies. However the rest of the town were not buying nappies, but were ravaging the store of every sprout, carrot, brandy butter, chestnut and indigestion tablets.
They were so short of trolleys, Mrs Bennet had to opt for a double trolley consisting of a baby and toddler seat, which suited the twins perfectly.
“You’ve left one of the twins at home I see,” remarked one of the supermarket assistants. Mrs Bennet raised her eyebrows, bemused.
“No, they’re both here.”
“Oh, I thought you’d brought your middle one along instead. Gosh they’re so different aren’t they?”
The twins just grinned, lapping up the attention. And off they went, happily pointing at people in Clanger-like voices as their driver swerved sharply to the right to avoid the vegetable scrum. A double trolley and a determined mass of bodies vying for the last bag of parsnips was a recipe for disaster and Mrs Bennet felt exhausted from her game of dodgem cars with shoppers and shelves. She took refuge in the cat and dog food aisle. It was empty. Five daughters and husband were enough mouths to feed, but she was half tempted to buy a pet just to stay in the oasis of Pedigree Chum.
On her return, she vowed not to go anywhere near the place again until New Year. But realised with horror, she’d forgotten the nappies after all so promptly used up her “phone-a-friend” card for assistance. As she did so, the doorbell rang. A handsome man presented her with a large festive bouquet as big as her dining table.
“Oh are they for me?”
“No Madam, they are for a Mr Bennet,” came the reply, “Does he live here?”
“Yes he does. Who are they from?” Mrs Bennet asked a little peeved that her husband had a secret admirer.
“He will have to look at the envelope attached Madam.” And with that the messenger had gone, before Mrs Bennet could reply.
“He won’t. I will,” she muttered, and tore open the accompanied note, which, she discovered, had been sent by another man.
Confused, she rang Mr Bennet, who laughed and confessed his so called “lover” was “another man and his wife” and the flowers were really for her.
Although Mrs Bennet’s gel-stung face matched the festive floral display, her relief helped her hot cheeks to lighten somewhat. After all Mr Darcy falling for Mr Bennet was definitely not in her plot.
It was the morning before the morning before Christmas and Mrs Bennet was sleep deprived. She’d just wiped cream all over her face to discover it wasn’t cream at all, but hair gel. Half asleep, her eyes hadn’t registered the difference in the two pots. But her skin quickly did when the stinging started. It was with a certain red glow about her person, that she made another mistake – venturing into a certain supermarket with the twin Bennets due to a desperate need for wet wipes and nappies. She hadn’t meant to leave supplies so empty, but festivities, present hunting, wrapping, delivering, card writing, visiting and nursing poorly children had been her main pre-occupation. It was only when the twins were wearing the last nappies in the house, she realised something had to be done. She didn’t want to be caught short like last month, when Miss Rosie Bennet had been wearing a make-shift nappy – a t-towel of the Scottish Highlands, knotted either side of her hips – because once cleaning a rather dirty derriere, Mrs Bennet realised she had nothing to put on it.
Running on empty was something she was guilty of doing as was running out of nappies. However the rest of the town were not buying nappies, but were ravaging the store of every sprout, carrot, brandy butter, chestnut and indigestion tablets.
They were so short of trolleys, Mrs Bennet had to opt for a double trolley consisting of a baby and toddler seat, which suited the twins perfectly.
“You’ve left one of the twins at home I see,” remarked one of the supermarket assistants. Mrs Bennet raised her eyebrows, bemused.
“No, they’re both here.”
“Oh, I thought you’d brought your middle one along instead. Gosh they’re so different aren’t they?”
The twins just grinned, lapping up the attention. And off they went, happily pointing at people in Clanger-like voices as their driver swerved sharply to the right to avoid the vegetable scrum. A double trolley and a determined mass of bodies vying for the last bag of parsnips was a recipe for disaster and Mrs Bennet felt exhausted from her game of dodgem cars with shoppers and shelves. She took refuge in the cat and dog food aisle. It was empty. Five daughters and husband were enough mouths to feed, but she was half tempted to buy a pet just to stay in the oasis of Pedigree Chum.
On her return, she vowed not to go anywhere near the place again until New Year. But realised with horror, she’d forgotten the nappies after all so promptly used up her “phone-a-friend” card for assistance. As she did so, the doorbell rang. A handsome man presented her with a large festive bouquet as big as her dining table.
“Oh are they for me?”
“No Madam, they are for a Mr Bennet,” came the reply, “Does he live here?”
“Yes he does. Who are they from?” Mrs Bennet asked a little peeved that her husband had a secret admirer.
“He will have to look at the envelope attached Madam.” And with that the messenger had gone, before Mrs Bennet could reply.
“He won’t. I will,” she muttered, and tore open the accompanied note, which, she discovered, had been sent by another man.
Confused, she rang Mr Bennet, who laughed and confessed his so called “lover” was “another man and his wife” and the flowers were really for her.
Although Mrs Bennet’s gel-stung face matched the festive floral display, her relief helped her hot cheeks to lighten somewhat. After all Mr Darcy falling for Mr Bennet was definitely not in her plot.
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