Wednesday, November 11 ‘09
Now the dolls-on-the-roof had completed their ball-point pen removal therapy, they were back in full working order – being dragged along feet-first and lovingly manhandled by Spag and Bol. Under the lounge spotlights, the baby plastic now looked decidedly blotchy and Mrs. Bennet realised she had slightly overcooked the poor things. But the little Miss Twin Bennets didn’t seem to mind. They shoved Cheerios into the dolls’ mouths regardless and then wondered why they couldn’t get them back out.
Mrs. Bennet was so grateful to Spag and Bol right now. They were proving a real tonic. Their in-built rechargeable batteries never ran out enabling them to clip-clop in clumsy yet beautifully-comical style around the downstairs circle-route in bite-size Modern Pemberley wearing dressing-up high heeled shoes which didn’t match. They had no worries; only giggles and smiles. Mrs. Bennet wondered what age worry set in. How she would love a bottle of care-free childlike innocence at times. All was well in Spag and Bol’s world even if it wasn’t quite as it should be in Mrs. Bennet’s. With Christmas looming, Mrs. Bennet had no desire to buy any presents. Getting to Christmas dinner with every family member in one piece would be the best gift of all. Right now her dad was in hospital, having been rushed in passing out with acute stomach pains. Jannie had bravely fought breast cancer, but was still suffering the aftermaths and had seen enough medics to last a life-time. It certainly hadn’t been the best of years. And yet, despite seeing her dad, happy on morphine, eyes tinged yellow with his unshaven chin dappled with white specs as if he’d been caught dipping it into a packet of icing sugar, Mrs. Bennet felt grateful. Jannie had made it and so too would her dad – with the help of gall-bladder removal and a low-fat diet.
“Donuts don’t have any fat in do they?” he half-hoped, half-joked. It wasn’t good news for a sweet-tooth.
“They’re giving me a list of what I can have,” he informed his wife, still heart-broken that he hadn’t been given any ice-cream or milk for his breakfast cornflakes by the nurses.
“Good, because if they tell you, you might listen,” replied Jannie.
“Have you told them about your allergies?”
“Yes, but they only put down - beer. I think it was the only one they remembered but it made the consultant laugh,” the patient said smiling.
If there was one thing which held her family together it was humour. Watching her parent’s playful banter despite the situation they were in, gave her hope. A man wretched noisily into one of those funny cardboard bedpans in the corner bed; another snorted loudly in his sleep while one poor chap was stuck in the toilet waiting to be wheeled back to his bed. Visitors had sat around talking to an invisible man for 20 minutes wandering where he had gone. It was like watching a scene from Only When I Laugh, a classic early 1980’s comedy series set in the ward of an NHS hospital with an odd trio of male patients. Humour was everywhere if you chose to see it. And Mrs. Bennet had it on tap. She only had to spend a few minutes observing her youngest two daughters to get a free dose.
Showing posts with label spag and bol; mrs bennet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spag and bol; mrs bennet. Show all posts
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
The “But Mummy I have to have it now” syndrome
Monday, September 21 ‘09
Having felt a deep sense of achievement in watching the eldest Miss Bennet get dressed, fed, hair and teeth brushed without so much as a repeat request, Mrs Bennet felt somewhat relaxed as she encouraged her flock to round up ready for the morning exit. A check list on Miss Bennet Number One’s desk with a tick box next to each simple instruction including get up, get dressed, put on clean white socks and so on; seemed to do the trick. The pre-teen happily ticked her boxes.
All was going too smoothly. Miss Bennet Number Two was voluntarily popping up toast and taking orders from her siblings; twins Spag and Bol were chuckling over a private joke which involved a couple of plastic play people and Mrs Bennet was ahead with the pigtail ritual. At eight o’clock, she was two heads down, three to go. She was dressed, had every book bag, shoe and lunch box, lined up in military precision at the boarding gate. And so far, nothing had been removed from a wandering Spag or Bol.
Thirty five minutes later three little school girls suddenly remember they have to take something really important into class and it must be today. The morning army camp had no room in its schedule for forgotten items, so peace was soon quickly escaping out the front door, instead of the six bodies inside.
“Mummy, I need to have a photo of me as a baby. We’re looking at growth today. Can you get me one so I can take it in?” cried an innocent five-year-old, oblivious of her mother’s rising stress levels.
“And you haven’t got my Indian top and trousers from the dressing up bag Mummy, and I wanted to take it today,” remembered the elder Miss Bennet who was studying Indian culture and custom at school.
“Oh, and I need a piece of fruit to take so we can paint it in art this morning. It has to be unusual and I don’t want anything we have got here, they’re all too boring,” chipped in Miss Bennet number three.
“Great,” thought Mrs Bennet, frantically trying to remember where Megan’s baby photo was and had they got time to nip into a shop and buy a quirky fruit?
Baby photo sorted, the flock was allowed beyond the fence; the shepherd following, guiding them with her spoken rod. Thankfully as Miss Bennet Number One had followed her check list to the tee, there were five valuable minutes spare – just enough time for Mrs Bennet to pull up outside her favourite supermarket, rush in and buy two coconuts for a £1. As she hadn’t managed to retrieve the Indian outfit from the dust heap under Mr Bennet’s side of the bed, she handed Miss Bennet Number One the other coconut. She too was studying the compositions and different shapes within a still life, so Mrs Bennet’s bunch of coconuts was the hit of the morning.
Once the three older sheep were safely in green uniform pastures and Spag and Bol were securely strapped in the Scooby Doo van, Mrs Bennet slumped over the steering wheel relieved the morning scrum was over. She glanced in the driver’s mirror. Make-up was smeared like war paint all over her left cheek. She hadn’t had chance to do a bathroom check in the rush to leave the house. No one but no one in the playground had said anything about her ridiculous look. Or was it because she always looked like that first thing in the morning?
Having felt a deep sense of achievement in watching the eldest Miss Bennet get dressed, fed, hair and teeth brushed without so much as a repeat request, Mrs Bennet felt somewhat relaxed as she encouraged her flock to round up ready for the morning exit. A check list on Miss Bennet Number One’s desk with a tick box next to each simple instruction including get up, get dressed, put on clean white socks and so on; seemed to do the trick. The pre-teen happily ticked her boxes.
All was going too smoothly. Miss Bennet Number Two was voluntarily popping up toast and taking orders from her siblings; twins Spag and Bol were chuckling over a private joke which involved a couple of plastic play people and Mrs Bennet was ahead with the pigtail ritual. At eight o’clock, she was two heads down, three to go. She was dressed, had every book bag, shoe and lunch box, lined up in military precision at the boarding gate. And so far, nothing had been removed from a wandering Spag or Bol.
Thirty five minutes later three little school girls suddenly remember they have to take something really important into class and it must be today. The morning army camp had no room in its schedule for forgotten items, so peace was soon quickly escaping out the front door, instead of the six bodies inside.
“Mummy, I need to have a photo of me as a baby. We’re looking at growth today. Can you get me one so I can take it in?” cried an innocent five-year-old, oblivious of her mother’s rising stress levels.
“And you haven’t got my Indian top and trousers from the dressing up bag Mummy, and I wanted to take it today,” remembered the elder Miss Bennet who was studying Indian culture and custom at school.
“Oh, and I need a piece of fruit to take so we can paint it in art this morning. It has to be unusual and I don’t want anything we have got here, they’re all too boring,” chipped in Miss Bennet number three.
“Great,” thought Mrs Bennet, frantically trying to remember where Megan’s baby photo was and had they got time to nip into a shop and buy a quirky fruit?
Baby photo sorted, the flock was allowed beyond the fence; the shepherd following, guiding them with her spoken rod. Thankfully as Miss Bennet Number One had followed her check list to the tee, there were five valuable minutes spare – just enough time for Mrs Bennet to pull up outside her favourite supermarket, rush in and buy two coconuts for a £1. As she hadn’t managed to retrieve the Indian outfit from the dust heap under Mr Bennet’s side of the bed, she handed Miss Bennet Number One the other coconut. She too was studying the compositions and different shapes within a still life, so Mrs Bennet’s bunch of coconuts was the hit of the morning.
Once the three older sheep were safely in green uniform pastures and Spag and Bol were securely strapped in the Scooby Doo van, Mrs Bennet slumped over the steering wheel relieved the morning scrum was over. She glanced in the driver’s mirror. Make-up was smeared like war paint all over her left cheek. She hadn’t had chance to do a bathroom check in the rush to leave the house. No one but no one in the playground had said anything about her ridiculous look. Or was it because she always looked like that first thing in the morning?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
