Wednesday, August 6 08
"I now know what is worse than sleep deprivation - sitting in a shoe shop waiting for my children to be served when all the mums in the county have decided to do the same thing," mumbled Mrs Bennet under her breath.
It was the time of year all shoe fitters and mothers loathed with a passion. Finding new shoes for school. Patience was tested to the limit as little people's hopes of leaving the shop with their chosen shoes were dashed as either a) their parents couldn't afford them or didn't like the style b) they didn't fit or c) they were so popular the supplies had run dry.
Mrs Bennet and her three eldest daughters were holding fast to their number 50 ticket. The machine seemed to get stuck on 46, there were 20 children huddled in clusters around the sitting area, babies crying in pushchairs because the wait was too long and assistants looking extremely flustered yet wearing plastic smiles.
To their credit, the Miss Bennets sat patiently, secretly praying like potential Cinderellas that their feet would fit their favorite slippers. Mrs Bennet prayed a different prayer - that they would be seen before 2.30pm struck and they all got turned into pumpkins. Their train back to Stroud left Gloucester at 2.45pm. At this rate, they would have no glass slipper and no carriage to get home.
Thankfully at 2.10pm, 50 minutes after walking into the store, the counter moved. The Bennets - and Jannie (Mrs Bennet's mum) did a Mexican wave and shouted for joy as one young assistant called the magic 50.
Little Miss Megan Bennet was allowed to go first as it was her debut fitting session for school. She wanted a cat design, probably because it came with a toy kitten, but Mrs Bennet acknowledged they were sensible and practical and if they fitted - which they did - she was allowed to have them.
Miss Emily followed, her heart set on a black pair because it had a doll and a pet which could live in the sole of her shoe.
"Why do they do that? Whoever comes up with these gimmicks should be made to sit in a shoe shop with 40 kids all wanting shoes at the same time for penance. It's as bad as supermarkets introducing car trolleys. It's alright for those who get one, but for those who don't it's basically a nightmare for the poor parents. We're here to buy shoes NOT toys," she complained to Jannie, who was the picture of patience.
Mrs Bennet once awarded her a certificate, stating that her mother had gained an A level in patience. She knew she had much to learn from her.
With two children happy, the eldest was struggling to get her foot to fit her chosen slipper. Even with insoles, there were gaps where her foot was too slender. Looking at the clock which was heading close to departure time, Mrs Bennet was forced to step in.
"Look Naomi, you've got some new sandals, I think we'll have to get you some on another day. Is that OK?"
Thankfully her daughter agreed on condition she could wear her new bargain £10 sandals. And the five of them were able to leave in a dignified fashion, with "soles" lifted, ready to enjoy their train ride home. Mr Bennet had taken a day off to look after the twin Bennets so Mrs Bennet could give them a surprise rail trip.
As his daughters barged down the door, he was bombarded with shoe offerings and forced to voice his delight at their choices. Once he'd given them the responses they were looking for, Mr Bennet turned to his wife: "So how was it?"
To which she replied: "If you ever want to punish me Mr Bennet, all you need to do is put me in a shoe shop during August and leave me there. It's on par with another pet hate of mine - emptying cold tea bags out of the teapot!"
Wednesday, 6 August 2008
The Phone Call Rang!
Tuesday, August 5 08
Mrs Bennet realised with annoyance that almost half her shopping money had been spent in just 10 minutes. The camping food list would consist of only tins, bread and crackers at this rate. The offending crisp which led to Mrs Bennet swallowing part of her tooth cost her £42 which hurt her far more than the tooth would have done if she’d not done anything about it.
“I’m obviously in the wrong job. If I earnt £40 every 10 minutes looking after the children, that would be £240 an hour! I look at mouths and bottoms all day long too but my purse is constantly empty,” she grumbled silently.
Mrs Bennet was secretly relieved it hadn’t cost her more money. But that was an expensive swallow! Somewhere in her body, a tiny piece of tooth was floating around. Not that she wanted to see it again, but she was amazed how a millimetre square could cost so much. Only last month a stone, the same size, had fallen out of her engagement ring and had cost £80. She’d got the Scooby Doo van caught on a gate post and as she had to either go forward or backwards, she completed the masterpiece and created £400 work.
Living was expensive. Living with five daughters, a husband and herself was even more so. She got her wages when she returned home.
“Mummy, while you were out the phone call rang,” shouted out Miss Emily Bennet.
The pain of parting with £42 eased. “When you hear such great comments like that, it makes living worthwhile,” she thought, kissing her second eldest daughter on the head.
The phone call rang to invite the Bennet family round to play that afternoon. This pleased the little Bennets as they did like to know what they were doing. It also meant the rain – which prevented them from riding their bikes and slashing in the paddling pool – no longer bothered them. Instead after happily picnicking on the carpet, Mrs Bennet put out two buckets, divided up the ring links which attached the babies’ toys to their gym, and challenged them all to see how many they could throw into their targets. It provoked a mini lounge Olympics which caused much amusement, followed by a painting session decorating the air-drying clay models they had made the day before. Once this was done, Mrs Bennet proceeded to get out two directors chairs (which were lined up in the hallway ready for camping) and threw a duvet over them to create a mini tent. A simple act but it created a source of great merriment – particularly when the little twin Bennets joined in after their lunchtime sleep and got stuck between the chair legs.
It was hard work on Mrs Bennet’s part, but at least the children were happy – until World War III broke out as usual around five o’clock. By the time Mr Bennet arrived his wife looked exhausted. She was persuading her daughters to at least try her sausage casserole while trying to stop Miss Rosie Bennet whacking her smaller twin on the head with a toy flute in the musical instrument box.
An hour later, five women friends were on the doorstep waiting for their taxi driver. She had organised an evening out at the pub, but since she had the largest car had been nominated the taxi service for the night. Instead of five little girls she had five grown ladies, who she was very tempted to strap in as was her usual custom.
“Now no messing in the back, no arguing and no whining!” she instructed her passengers.
“Yes mum!” her new offspring replied in unison.
A diet coke and a coffee later, she realised too late that she had overdosed in caffeine and was shaking. She returned home to find Mr Bennet staring at the dining table.
“Are you working?” Mrs Bennet asked him.
“No, I knocked over the hamma beads and now I’m trying to put them back – not very successfully!”
Mrs Bennet smiled. Hamma beads were the bane of her life. If they weren’t ironed when the designs were completed, a slight knock and they risked rolling everywhere, as Mr Bennet experienced first-hand.
Mr Bennet was kept busy for a long time. He had to abandon one design, but the rescued creation was dutifully ironed and placed in a safe place.
Mrs Bennet didn’t offer to help – she was entertained far more watching Mr Bennet polish up his artistic talent and motor skills!
Mrs Bennet realised with annoyance that almost half her shopping money had been spent in just 10 minutes. The camping food list would consist of only tins, bread and crackers at this rate. The offending crisp which led to Mrs Bennet swallowing part of her tooth cost her £42 which hurt her far more than the tooth would have done if she’d not done anything about it.
“I’m obviously in the wrong job. If I earnt £40 every 10 minutes looking after the children, that would be £240 an hour! I look at mouths and bottoms all day long too but my purse is constantly empty,” she grumbled silently.
Mrs Bennet was secretly relieved it hadn’t cost her more money. But that was an expensive swallow! Somewhere in her body, a tiny piece of tooth was floating around. Not that she wanted to see it again, but she was amazed how a millimetre square could cost so much. Only last month a stone, the same size, had fallen out of her engagement ring and had cost £80. She’d got the Scooby Doo van caught on a gate post and as she had to either go forward or backwards, she completed the masterpiece and created £400 work.
Living was expensive. Living with five daughters, a husband and herself was even more so. She got her wages when she returned home.
“Mummy, while you were out the phone call rang,” shouted out Miss Emily Bennet.
The pain of parting with £42 eased. “When you hear such great comments like that, it makes living worthwhile,” she thought, kissing her second eldest daughter on the head.
The phone call rang to invite the Bennet family round to play that afternoon. This pleased the little Bennets as they did like to know what they were doing. It also meant the rain – which prevented them from riding their bikes and slashing in the paddling pool – no longer bothered them. Instead after happily picnicking on the carpet, Mrs Bennet put out two buckets, divided up the ring links which attached the babies’ toys to their gym, and challenged them all to see how many they could throw into their targets. It provoked a mini lounge Olympics which caused much amusement, followed by a painting session decorating the air-drying clay models they had made the day before. Once this was done, Mrs Bennet proceeded to get out two directors chairs (which were lined up in the hallway ready for camping) and threw a duvet over them to create a mini tent. A simple act but it created a source of great merriment – particularly when the little twin Bennets joined in after their lunchtime sleep and got stuck between the chair legs.
It was hard work on Mrs Bennet’s part, but at least the children were happy – until World War III broke out as usual around five o’clock. By the time Mr Bennet arrived his wife looked exhausted. She was persuading her daughters to at least try her sausage casserole while trying to stop Miss Rosie Bennet whacking her smaller twin on the head with a toy flute in the musical instrument box.
An hour later, five women friends were on the doorstep waiting for their taxi driver. She had organised an evening out at the pub, but since she had the largest car had been nominated the taxi service for the night. Instead of five little girls she had five grown ladies, who she was very tempted to strap in as was her usual custom.
“Now no messing in the back, no arguing and no whining!” she instructed her passengers.
“Yes mum!” her new offspring replied in unison.
A diet coke and a coffee later, she realised too late that she had overdosed in caffeine and was shaking. She returned home to find Mr Bennet staring at the dining table.
“Are you working?” Mrs Bennet asked him.
“No, I knocked over the hamma beads and now I’m trying to put them back – not very successfully!”
Mrs Bennet smiled. Hamma beads were the bane of her life. If they weren’t ironed when the designs were completed, a slight knock and they risked rolling everywhere, as Mr Bennet experienced first-hand.
Mr Bennet was kept busy for a long time. He had to abandon one design, but the rescued creation was dutifully ironed and placed in a safe place.
Mrs Bennet didn’t offer to help – she was entertained far more watching Mr Bennet polish up his artistic talent and motor skills!
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
Five Oatmeal Men please!
Monday, August 4 08
“I can’t believe we’re in week three of the summer holidays already. I can do this, I will survive and I won’t be pulling out any more grey hairs by September,” Mrs Bennet confessed. She had been quite perturbed to discover a few appearing round her ears. The trouble was having dark hair meant they showed up more. Although having said that at the hairdressers the other day, the bubbly stylist cutting Miss Naomi Bennet’s hair, had presented her with a white hair.
“This is your daughter’s first grey hair,” she exclaimed. It certainly made Mrs Bennet feel better, but she did hope that was the last one for at least 20 years for her daughter’s sake. Thirty nine was acceptable, eight was not.
Mrs Bennet learnt a valuable lesson today – not to tell the children EXACTLY what they were doing, because inevitably this could all change. As it did this morning. The Bennet brood were supposed to meeting friends in the park, but as she was about to leave, thought she better check with her girl friend it was still on. It was just as well as they were driving up north and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday. Mrs Bennet would have been waiting at the park a long time! Unfortunately she had told the little Bennets this was where they were going, but thankfully the overcast clouds darkened in her favour and helped persuade them it was a better idea to go to a supermarket to hunt for suitable camp food.
That and a promise to buy a bucket to match their spades and a magazine each.
“I can’t ever remember getting my mum to do such things. I was content with making a den out of an old sheet and mum’s old clothes rack. Am I such a mug?” she thought. “Probably. But I did promise them a bucket last week and I do need a coffee.”
Ordering three iced buns, because you got three for a pound, and two oatmeal men for the twins, she sat down and enjoyed Mr Latte. It wasn’t quite the same sharing him with her children – he was supposed to be savoured alone – but at least she was sitting down momentarily.
The twins were happily munching their men. Miss Rosie Bennet devoured the head first, Miss Kezia Bennet tackled the legs and somehow managed to split hers in two.
Mrs Bennet smiled. If only it could be that easy! If she could just buy five oatmeal men for her five daughters at 10 pence each! The little Miss Bennets could of course have the choice of a cinnamon or chocolate man as well or if they could afford it a gingerbread one.
“I wonder what men they will choose when it comes to it?” she pondered as she watched them enjoying their ice-buns and mini men.
“A Mr Peely Wally, a Mr Latte or if they’re fortunate a dishy Mr Darcy, although I don’t like his moody attitude at times,” she decided, “but I suppose he does grow on you.”
A sudden desire to visit the little girl’s room by one of her offspring had a domino effect. The other two girls decided they too needed it. So leaving the twin Bennets to chomp the remaining parts of their edible men with her own mum looking after them, she escorted the others to their destination.
“We’re going to get through a supermarket full of toilet rolls in the coming years and I dread to think how many sanitary towels!” Mrs Bennet thought to herself.
Twenty minutes later the Bennet “pink” were lined up at the check-out, armed with two buckets, two magazines, a tin of spaghetti hoops and a tin of spaghetti castles and Princesses. Not content to share one bucket with her sisters, Miss Naomi Bennet wanted one to herself and traded in her magazine for a green bucket. Mrs Bennet realised this wouldn’t be the last diplomatic negotiation she would have to make. If only bringing up her daughters could be as easy as buying a handful of oatmeal men!
“I can’t believe we’re in week three of the summer holidays already. I can do this, I will survive and I won’t be pulling out any more grey hairs by September,” Mrs Bennet confessed. She had been quite perturbed to discover a few appearing round her ears. The trouble was having dark hair meant they showed up more. Although having said that at the hairdressers the other day, the bubbly stylist cutting Miss Naomi Bennet’s hair, had presented her with a white hair.
“This is your daughter’s first grey hair,” she exclaimed. It certainly made Mrs Bennet feel better, but she did hope that was the last one for at least 20 years for her daughter’s sake. Thirty nine was acceptable, eight was not.
Mrs Bennet learnt a valuable lesson today – not to tell the children EXACTLY what they were doing, because inevitably this could all change. As it did this morning. The Bennet brood were supposed to meeting friends in the park, but as she was about to leave, thought she better check with her girl friend it was still on. It was just as well as they were driving up north and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday. Mrs Bennet would have been waiting at the park a long time! Unfortunately she had told the little Bennets this was where they were going, but thankfully the overcast clouds darkened in her favour and helped persuade them it was a better idea to go to a supermarket to hunt for suitable camp food.
That and a promise to buy a bucket to match their spades and a magazine each.
“I can’t ever remember getting my mum to do such things. I was content with making a den out of an old sheet and mum’s old clothes rack. Am I such a mug?” she thought. “Probably. But I did promise them a bucket last week and I do need a coffee.”
Ordering three iced buns, because you got three for a pound, and two oatmeal men for the twins, she sat down and enjoyed Mr Latte. It wasn’t quite the same sharing him with her children – he was supposed to be savoured alone – but at least she was sitting down momentarily.
The twins were happily munching their men. Miss Rosie Bennet devoured the head first, Miss Kezia Bennet tackled the legs and somehow managed to split hers in two.
Mrs Bennet smiled. If only it could be that easy! If she could just buy five oatmeal men for her five daughters at 10 pence each! The little Miss Bennets could of course have the choice of a cinnamon or chocolate man as well or if they could afford it a gingerbread one.
“I wonder what men they will choose when it comes to it?” she pondered as she watched them enjoying their ice-buns and mini men.
“A Mr Peely Wally, a Mr Latte or if they’re fortunate a dishy Mr Darcy, although I don’t like his moody attitude at times,” she decided, “but I suppose he does grow on you.”
A sudden desire to visit the little girl’s room by one of her offspring had a domino effect. The other two girls decided they too needed it. So leaving the twin Bennets to chomp the remaining parts of their edible men with her own mum looking after them, she escorted the others to their destination.
“We’re going to get through a supermarket full of toilet rolls in the coming years and I dread to think how many sanitary towels!” Mrs Bennet thought to herself.
Twenty minutes later the Bennet “pink” were lined up at the check-out, armed with two buckets, two magazines, a tin of spaghetti hoops and a tin of spaghetti castles and Princesses. Not content to share one bucket with her sisters, Miss Naomi Bennet wanted one to herself and traded in her magazine for a green bucket. Mrs Bennet realised this wouldn’t be the last diplomatic negotiation she would have to make. If only bringing up her daughters could be as easy as buying a handful of oatmeal men!
Monday, 4 August 2008
No more dancing worms please!
Sunday, August 3 08
As well as sorting out her tooth problem, Mrs Bennet knew she had to overcome a few other problems before next Sunday – a day she wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest. The Bennets were going camping with lots of family friends. Camping wasn’t the issue, it was the fact that most of the occasions they had holidayed under canvas had resulted in a wash-out, so much so one year they had to abandon camp as a river was running through their tent, worms were dancing through the sod-cloth and as Miss Bennet Number Two was not yet walking, Mrs Bennet discovered there were no dry patches left to put her down. The final straw was the continual drips hitting their pillows.
“I only had two children then and that was bad enough. With five of them and two travel cots to fit in, are we mad Mr Bennet?” she queried.
“Well, my dear, let me point out, it was your idea to go,” he reminded his wife.
“Yes, but not because I wanted to, I thought the three older ones would enjoy it and they will. But it doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to the experience,” she replied, the rain agreeing with her as it lashed down on the conservatory roof.
Feeding five children who were very particular when it came to food, gave her a challenge. She decided to try out lots of tinned food on them in the coming week to see what would work. Packing, designing a menu, getting her tooth fixed and somehow smuggling her laptop in the car without Mr Bennet noticing would be on her list of “to dos”. Although they hadn't booked an electric hook-up on their camping plot, she knew close friends who would. Writing was her friend, along with Mr Latte. Without them, she would sink. That's if the forecast rainstorms didn't get her first.
As well as sorting out her tooth problem, Mrs Bennet knew she had to overcome a few other problems before next Sunday – a day she wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest. The Bennets were going camping with lots of family friends. Camping wasn’t the issue, it was the fact that most of the occasions they had holidayed under canvas had resulted in a wash-out, so much so one year they had to abandon camp as a river was running through their tent, worms were dancing through the sod-cloth and as Miss Bennet Number Two was not yet walking, Mrs Bennet discovered there were no dry patches left to put her down. The final straw was the continual drips hitting their pillows.
“I only had two children then and that was bad enough. With five of them and two travel cots to fit in, are we mad Mr Bennet?” she queried.
“Well, my dear, let me point out, it was your idea to go,” he reminded his wife.
“Yes, but not because I wanted to, I thought the three older ones would enjoy it and they will. But it doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to the experience,” she replied, the rain agreeing with her as it lashed down on the conservatory roof.
Feeding five children who were very particular when it came to food, gave her a challenge. She decided to try out lots of tinned food on them in the coming week to see what would work. Packing, designing a menu, getting her tooth fixed and somehow smuggling her laptop in the car without Mr Bennet noticing would be on her list of “to dos”. Although they hadn't booked an electric hook-up on their camping plot, she knew close friends who would. Writing was her friend, along with Mr Latte. Without them, she would sink. That's if the forecast rainstorms didn't get her first.
Sunday, 3 August 2008
Confidence and canines
Saturday, August 2 08
“Why is it that women always have a tendency to either put themselves down or believe they can’t do something everyone else believes they can?” thought Mrs Bennet. Now she was a year older, she was in that pondering mode.
“I suppose it’s a question of confidence. The thing is the umbilical cord (with a child attached at the other end) seems to sap confidence. That’s it! It’s transferred to the child who suddenly believes it’s the centre of everything, it is in control and can demand what it wants.”
Mr Bennet was right to worry about her sometimes. Mrs Bennet worried about Mrs Bennet too especially when she talked to herself . Yesterday marked a nine year milestone of baby making, nappy changing and milk producing. She had loosely decided to officially close the milk bar for good, but found she couldn’t do it. Instead Miss Kezia Bennet tucked in as usual showing no signs of giving up her mother’s supply.
This time next year Mrs Bennet would be 40, ending a decade of baby production, but marking, she hoped, the start of a new era. With building work due to start in October, she asked Mr Bennet if he could reassure her that it would be complete by her birthday. Then her 40th birthday would represent a more spacious and hopefully more sleepful season.
Thinking about the confidence issue, she acknowledged that her’s had had a battering over the decade. Mrs Bennet always knew if it was dwindling if she started saying “sorry” for things that weren’t even her fault. At those times she tended to slouch instead of walk with her head high and she was more likely to trip over her own feet. What had been easy before children, Mrs Bennet now found was like climbing Everest. At 23 she had taken herself off to Fiji for seven months, got the right flight at the right time, fought off rats, cockroaches and geckoes and didn’t think anything of it. Now, going anywhere on her own was so alien, it was almost scary.
Her mind was abruptly brought back to the present. She was munching on a crisp and in swallowing it, must have gulped down part of one of her back teeth, because it was no longer there. She felt sick in her stomach. Her tongue rolled over what felt very strange, something was missing and it would cost a lot of money – money she didn’t have – to replace it.
“Going to the dentist is just like putting your car in for an MOT. Everything is fine until you come out. And suddenly you have a hefty bill. I had the all clear at my check up the other day, and now I’m going to have to go back and get this tooth repaired. Why couldn’t it have done that while I was still on maternity exemption?”
The issue of confidence was put away to think about on another occasion. Now she was fed up – her tongue wouldn’t stop rubbing against what seemed a huge missing crater and she’d now have to get an appointment – before the family camping expedition began. Oh joy. But it would give her chance to sit down for a few minutes. Even it was a dentist’s chair, it was at least a chair!
“Why is it that women always have a tendency to either put themselves down or believe they can’t do something everyone else believes they can?” thought Mrs Bennet. Now she was a year older, she was in that pondering mode.
“I suppose it’s a question of confidence. The thing is the umbilical cord (with a child attached at the other end) seems to sap confidence. That’s it! It’s transferred to the child who suddenly believes it’s the centre of everything, it is in control and can demand what it wants.”
Mr Bennet was right to worry about her sometimes. Mrs Bennet worried about Mrs Bennet too especially when she talked to herself . Yesterday marked a nine year milestone of baby making, nappy changing and milk producing. She had loosely decided to officially close the milk bar for good, but found she couldn’t do it. Instead Miss Kezia Bennet tucked in as usual showing no signs of giving up her mother’s supply.
This time next year Mrs Bennet would be 40, ending a decade of baby production, but marking, she hoped, the start of a new era. With building work due to start in October, she asked Mr Bennet if he could reassure her that it would be complete by her birthday. Then her 40th birthday would represent a more spacious and hopefully more sleepful season.
Thinking about the confidence issue, she acknowledged that her’s had had a battering over the decade. Mrs Bennet always knew if it was dwindling if she started saying “sorry” for things that weren’t even her fault. At those times she tended to slouch instead of walk with her head high and she was more likely to trip over her own feet. What had been easy before children, Mrs Bennet now found was like climbing Everest. At 23 she had taken herself off to Fiji for seven months, got the right flight at the right time, fought off rats, cockroaches and geckoes and didn’t think anything of it. Now, going anywhere on her own was so alien, it was almost scary.
Her mind was abruptly brought back to the present. She was munching on a crisp and in swallowing it, must have gulped down part of one of her back teeth, because it was no longer there. She felt sick in her stomach. Her tongue rolled over what felt very strange, something was missing and it would cost a lot of money – money she didn’t have – to replace it.
“Going to the dentist is just like putting your car in for an MOT. Everything is fine until you come out. And suddenly you have a hefty bill. I had the all clear at my check up the other day, and now I’m going to have to go back and get this tooth repaired. Why couldn’t it have done that while I was still on maternity exemption?”
The issue of confidence was put away to think about on another occasion. Now she was fed up – her tongue wouldn’t stop rubbing against what seemed a huge missing crater and she’d now have to get an appointment – before the family camping expedition began. Oh joy. But it would give her chance to sit down for a few minutes. Even it was a dentist’s chair, it was at least a chair!
Friday, 1 August 2008
Birthday Bumps
Friday, August 1 08
"It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to!" howled Mrs Bennet as she lay on her bed. It was only 8.30 in the morning and already the elder three Bennets had managed to reduce her to tears. It was as if after handing over their presents and cards, they had done the special birthday bit for Mummy and could therefore conveniently forget about it. A mini fight broke out over who would use the cardboard box containing Mrs Bennet's chosen ornament; Misses Rosie and Kezia Bennet stopped in their crawling tracks and stared in awe at their older siblings - taking in every detail and no doubt storing it up for future use. Mrs Bennet ended up walking out on the temper tantrums, fearing she would say something she regret and retreated upstairs. When she did this, her offspring knew they had really upset her and it wasn't long before one of them silently climbed the stairs to boldly inform her: "We're better now, you can come down Mummy."
She didn't mean to, but she fell asleep and didn't wake up for an hour. When she came to, she looked in horror at the clock, realised the house was too quiet, ran into the lounge and was surprised to find all was well. The twins were entertained, there was harmony in the camp and she no longer felt guilty for drifting off with her friend Sleep - perhaps the best present she could wish for.
Mrs Bennet knew if she put her children first she would get a better birthday than if she did just what she wanted, so she took them out for an ice-bun. Not being a cake fan, she opted for a bread roll, which did look rather strange with a candle stuck in the middle. A gusty Happy Birthday gathered round a lit roll gained a few raised eyebrows. A few questions on age came her way, to which she replied 29. Whether they believed her or not, she was sticking to that answer. But Mrs Bennet should have realised her daughters would give the game away.
"But Mummy, that means I'm not born yet, because you had me when you were 30!" piped up Miss Bennet Number One.
Mr Bennet, being his kind self, decided to give his wife some time to herself, so took the afternoon off and enabled her to escape. All she wanted to do was go for a quiet run along a secluded cycle track and have a coffee in an award-winning bakery in a nearby market town which a double buggy prevented her from visiting. Minutes after arriving and just as she had her beloved Mr Decaf Cappuccino in hand, four boys - two of them identical twins - and a mother with a fifth child, a girl, in a pushchair arrived. Mrs Bennet, knowing full well what this lady was going through, immediately moved so the harassed mother could sit nearer her brood.
Having taking great pains to escape her five little Bennets, she was now surrounded by another mother's five children.
"I'm not the only one with five - and with twins - then!" she commented to her new companion. After a few chuckles, the lady admitted:
"We're in the process of emigrating to Canada because we can't afford to live in this country with five children."
Mrs Bennet's mind started working overtime.
"It's a tempting thought, but it's a bit drastic," she debated, "but I like my Mr Latte the way he is, I'm not so sure I'll find any Mr Darcys and Mr Bingleys for my five girls and it's far too cold for me."
Later on that evening, enjoying a rare night out with Mr Bennet, in a quaint village pub, she decided Canada might be the solution for one large family, but it wasn't the right one for hers.
"It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to!" howled Mrs Bennet as she lay on her bed. It was only 8.30 in the morning and already the elder three Bennets had managed to reduce her to tears. It was as if after handing over their presents and cards, they had done the special birthday bit for Mummy and could therefore conveniently forget about it. A mini fight broke out over who would use the cardboard box containing Mrs Bennet's chosen ornament; Misses Rosie and Kezia Bennet stopped in their crawling tracks and stared in awe at their older siblings - taking in every detail and no doubt storing it up for future use. Mrs Bennet ended up walking out on the temper tantrums, fearing she would say something she regret and retreated upstairs. When she did this, her offspring knew they had really upset her and it wasn't long before one of them silently climbed the stairs to boldly inform her: "We're better now, you can come down Mummy."
She didn't mean to, but she fell asleep and didn't wake up for an hour. When she came to, she looked in horror at the clock, realised the house was too quiet, ran into the lounge and was surprised to find all was well. The twins were entertained, there was harmony in the camp and she no longer felt guilty for drifting off with her friend Sleep - perhaps the best present she could wish for.
Mrs Bennet knew if she put her children first she would get a better birthday than if she did just what she wanted, so she took them out for an ice-bun. Not being a cake fan, she opted for a bread roll, which did look rather strange with a candle stuck in the middle. A gusty Happy Birthday gathered round a lit roll gained a few raised eyebrows. A few questions on age came her way, to which she replied 29. Whether they believed her or not, she was sticking to that answer. But Mrs Bennet should have realised her daughters would give the game away.
"But Mummy, that means I'm not born yet, because you had me when you were 30!" piped up Miss Bennet Number One.
Mr Bennet, being his kind self, decided to give his wife some time to herself, so took the afternoon off and enabled her to escape. All she wanted to do was go for a quiet run along a secluded cycle track and have a coffee in an award-winning bakery in a nearby market town which a double buggy prevented her from visiting. Minutes after arriving and just as she had her beloved Mr Decaf Cappuccino in hand, four boys - two of them identical twins - and a mother with a fifth child, a girl, in a pushchair arrived. Mrs Bennet, knowing full well what this lady was going through, immediately moved so the harassed mother could sit nearer her brood.
Having taking great pains to escape her five little Bennets, she was now surrounded by another mother's five children.
"I'm not the only one with five - and with twins - then!" she commented to her new companion. After a few chuckles, the lady admitted:
"We're in the process of emigrating to Canada because we can't afford to live in this country with five children."
Mrs Bennet's mind started working overtime.
"It's a tempting thought, but it's a bit drastic," she debated, "but I like my Mr Latte the way he is, I'm not so sure I'll find any Mr Darcys and Mr Bingleys for my five girls and it's far too cold for me."
Later on that evening, enjoying a rare night out with Mr Bennet, in a quaint village pub, she decided Canada might be the solution for one large family, but it wasn't the right one for hers.
The little grumps
Thursday, July 31
The runaway bottom didn't run away today. It was stationary, had no energy and wasn't up for moving anywhere. Miss Rosie Bennet was poorly and had been for two days now - hence no blog entries. She only wanted one thing - her Mummy. A constant cuddle kept the tears away. But the trouble was four other Miss Bennets wanted her as well. Mr Latte, Mr Decaf Cappuccino, Mr Peely Wally or more importantly Mr Bennet didn't get a look in. By the evening - having spent an hour in the doctor's waiting room with a lethargic baby - Mrs Bennet was spent. A friend had popped round earlier that day and asked her: "Do you realise that your cardigan is inside out?" She'd left her purse complete with shopping money at the leisure centre and she found herself putting the tin foil in the fridge. At least it wasn't the microwave. There were small mercies in every situation.
Mr Bennet encouraged her to step out of the house for a while early evening, but Mrs Bennet returned 20 minutes later. She didn't even have the energy to read the paper. She did however buy a birthday cake - for herself - as she knew full well her children or Mr Bennet wouldn't get one. Today, she wished she was anywhere but home. The summer holidays were getting to her. Moaning dragged you down after a while, time of the month didn't help and a sick child made it harder. In all the duvet was where she wanted to be - preferably on her own.
The runaway bottom didn't run away today. It was stationary, had no energy and wasn't up for moving anywhere. Miss Rosie Bennet was poorly and had been for two days now - hence no blog entries. She only wanted one thing - her Mummy. A constant cuddle kept the tears away. But the trouble was four other Miss Bennets wanted her as well. Mr Latte, Mr Decaf Cappuccino, Mr Peely Wally or more importantly Mr Bennet didn't get a look in. By the evening - having spent an hour in the doctor's waiting room with a lethargic baby - Mrs Bennet was spent. A friend had popped round earlier that day and asked her: "Do you realise that your cardigan is inside out?" She'd left her purse complete with shopping money at the leisure centre and she found herself putting the tin foil in the fridge. At least it wasn't the microwave. There were small mercies in every situation.
Mr Bennet encouraged her to step out of the house for a while early evening, but Mrs Bennet returned 20 minutes later. She didn't even have the energy to read the paper. She did however buy a birthday cake - for herself - as she knew full well her children or Mr Bennet wouldn't get one. Today, she wished she was anywhere but home. The summer holidays were getting to her. Moaning dragged you down after a while, time of the month didn't help and a sick child made it harder. In all the duvet was where she wanted to be - preferably on her own.
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