Thursday, January 15 09
It was a sad day for Mrs Bennet. It marked the end of a very long baby era. Miss Kezia Bennet had finally – five months after her twin sister – started walking. She had mastered, what Mrs Bennet’s friends considered a brilliant impression of Charlie Chaplin minus his mustache. To add to this comical walk, Miss Bennet, rather partial to a certain Dora the Explorer umbrella, used it like Chaplin’s walking stick, waving it as she went, with a Cheshire Cat grin on her face. Mrs Bennet thought she resembled a penguin, her tiny feet fanning outwards as she carefully waddled her way around new territory.
Up until this point Mrs Bennet had therefore been spared the issue of two walking twins. But finally at 20 months, the real fun started. She unfortunately made the mistake of lifting the legs out of the supermarket trolley. Now free to roam along the wide aisles, the chubby legs were in their element. Being independent, they went in opposite directions, making it all the more impossible to catch them or shop.
Eventually Mrs Bennet scooped them up as best she could – and plonked them inside the trolley rather than in the seats as their little legs pedalled furiously.
Observing rebellion in the camp, a warm friendly lady, with funky white, purple and red hair and trendy glasses bounced up to her.
“Have you ever thought of using one of these?” she asked, holding up a zapper.
“Not really. I thought you had to be a store card holder,” she replied.
“Oh no anyone can use one. I think you'll find it really helpful and it means you don’t have to queue at the till,” announced the lady, who like Mrs Bennet, was clearly a fan of Jenny Joseph’s award-winning poem, Warning.
“Sounds good to me…and by the way I love your hair. I’ve decided to grow old disgracefully and have purple streaks too,” chuckled Mrs Bennet.
“Absolutely!” the kind zapper lady replied. Mrs Bennet liked this lady.
The zapping lesson didn’t start until the next morning as Mrs Bennet had abandoned all hope of buying the few items she needed. But now armed with this impressive gizmo, she was looking forward to shooting a few things.
Her trainer showed her how to zap the bar codes, check how much she was spending and more importantly how to remove objects if she found something better.
Zap, zap, zap went Mrs Bennet. Ooh, Ooh, Ooh went the Misses Twin Bennets, intrigued by Mummy’s new toy.
It was quite liberating. Mrs Bennet wished life could be this simple. She thought about her five daughters. If only she could go shopping for Darcys. Just imagine shelves full of future son-in-laws! How great that would be to zap a few, then eradicate them if she saw one who looked more suitable!
The Zapper lady checked her apprentice’s progress.
“I’m off for a tea break and wanted to see if you’re OK,” she said.
“I’m fine. This is great. I only wish I could use it on everything and everyone,” Mrs Bennet joked.
The minute her trainer disappeared, Mrs Bennet got into trouble. She’d zapped a pot of double cream by mistake but in trying to unzap the item, she managed to add one and then another, and then another, until according to her zapper, she had six pots in her trolley. By this time the Miss Twin Bennets were no longer enthralled by their mother’s toy, and started to object. Determined to master her zapper, Mrs Bennet tried zapping with the minus button. It worked.
“Hey this is easy when you know how!” declared a victorious Mrs Bennet, proceeding to the zapping counter, which of course had no queue. Queues and children didn’t get on.
“I can pay with cash can’t I?” she asked a lovely young girl, who shared Mrs Bennet’s sense of humour.
“You can pay with anything, apart from pounds of flesh,” she wittingly replied.
“I don’t really have any to spare anyway,” said Mrs Bennet, exhilarated by her first zapping experience.
To have a sizzling hot Mr Latte and to be introduced to her new friend Mr Zapper in one morning, was almost too much. She went back home to the Darcys in the Dirt – half wishing she could try out the zapper on them!
Thursday, 15 January 2009
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
Outnumbered by Darcys
Wednesday, January 14 09
The Darcys in the Dirt were breeding. There were now seven of them working on the house and to say Mrs Bennet felt surrounded was an understatement. The sub-contractor Darcys were now on site, wiring up and putting sockets in place and asking Mrs Bennet questions she wasn’t sure she was getting correct. She didn’t have a manual to consult, only a man, who didn’t know the answers either, so together they muddled through.
It was one of those days, when the hormones were raging, the head was pounding and the belly was aching and all she wanted to do was curl up in a black room and sleep. But there were sub-Darcys in her bedroom and nowhere to go. The little twin-Bennets were asleep so she couldn’t escape either. Instead she shut herself in the lounge and eventually fell asleep on the sofa – ignoring the comings and goings of sub-Darcys running up and down the stairs and the banging and drilling all around her.
For the first time in her life she was outnumbered by men. She was now having a taste of what Mr Bennet’s mum must have gone through bringing up five boys. She must have given up asking them to take their shoes off and not leaving the toilet seat up. Mrs Bennet didn’t really mind having so many men around. It was almost reassuring, but she longed to have her house back. But then again, she would miss her original Darcys, who only this morning had yet again helped her de-ice the Scooby Doo van, which just didn’t want to de-ice. It took at least 20 minutes – 20 minutes she didn’t have – to see through the windscreen. The scraper was in Mr Bennet’s car and a credit card wasn’t so efficient – especially when it came to scraping the large windscreen inside.
“Girls when it comes to have children, take my advice, only have two children! You’re car won’t be so big!” she declared, feeling more stressed as every minute passed. In the end she resorted to ringing the school and apologising in advance that the Miss Bennets would be late – better that than driving a car which had no visibility.
The Darcys in the Dirt were her heroes that morning. Their reward - a box of biscuits. They could breed as much as they liked, drink her coffee as much as they liked – so long as they rescued her now and then.
The Darcys in the Dirt were breeding. There were now seven of them working on the house and to say Mrs Bennet felt surrounded was an understatement. The sub-contractor Darcys were now on site, wiring up and putting sockets in place and asking Mrs Bennet questions she wasn’t sure she was getting correct. She didn’t have a manual to consult, only a man, who didn’t know the answers either, so together they muddled through.
It was one of those days, when the hormones were raging, the head was pounding and the belly was aching and all she wanted to do was curl up in a black room and sleep. But there were sub-Darcys in her bedroom and nowhere to go. The little twin-Bennets were asleep so she couldn’t escape either. Instead she shut herself in the lounge and eventually fell asleep on the sofa – ignoring the comings and goings of sub-Darcys running up and down the stairs and the banging and drilling all around her.
For the first time in her life she was outnumbered by men. She was now having a taste of what Mr Bennet’s mum must have gone through bringing up five boys. She must have given up asking them to take their shoes off and not leaving the toilet seat up. Mrs Bennet didn’t really mind having so many men around. It was almost reassuring, but she longed to have her house back. But then again, she would miss her original Darcys, who only this morning had yet again helped her de-ice the Scooby Doo van, which just didn’t want to de-ice. It took at least 20 minutes – 20 minutes she didn’t have – to see through the windscreen. The scraper was in Mr Bennet’s car and a credit card wasn’t so efficient – especially when it came to scraping the large windscreen inside.
“Girls when it comes to have children, take my advice, only have two children! You’re car won’t be so big!” she declared, feeling more stressed as every minute passed. In the end she resorted to ringing the school and apologising in advance that the Miss Bennets would be late – better that than driving a car which had no visibility.
The Darcys in the Dirt were her heroes that morning. Their reward - a box of biscuits. They could breed as much as they liked, drink her coffee as much as they liked – so long as they rescued her now and then.
Monday, 12 January 2009
Little Darcy comes for tea
Friday, January 9 09
It was clear how male-deprived the little Bennet girls were when a member of the opposite species came for tea. They almost couldn’t handle it. The excited high-pitched squeals reached decibels Mrs Bennet didn’t think possible of her five daughters.
This small Darcy however was oblivious to the impact he had on his young females and happily engaged with each, enjoying their company. He had secretly been Miss Bennet Number One’s Darcy since the first day at school, but now the relationship had changed to a more comfortable and level-headed one. Miss Bennet decided she wouldn’t be getting married for a while so potential fiancés were not to be considered just yet. Although it was strange that a year ago or so when this young Darcy had sat at their table, she had suddenly acquired a taste for broccoli and gravy, because a certain gentleman did.
As there was currently not much room in the living quarters, it was therefore rather brave of young Darcy to walk into a room of giggly girls. But he was here to do business. As school council representatives, he and Miss Bennet had set themselves a challenge to write a blog on council meetings, decisions and what they’d like to see happen at school. So Mrs Bennet sent them upstairs to work – away from the younger Bennets who clearly wanted young Darcy to play with them.
“If this happens in 10 years time, I’d quite happily have them working at the dining table where I can see them. Sending a young man into my daughter’s bedroom, would probably not be such a good idea!” she thought.
“Then I’ll be 50, have three teenage daughters and two in the wings of the hormone phase. Think of all the boyfriends? On the other hand don’t!” she told herself.
The upstairs blog writing didn’t last long. One paragraph later, they were ready for tea and downstairs they came, much to the delight of the four younger Bennet sisters, who were thrilled with their guest.
This young Darcy held his own. He left none of them out and had fun with them all. Mrs Bennet only hoped that when the time came for the grown-up Darcys to dine here, they would be as polite as this younger model. Whoever could get her daughters to eat broccoli deserved the Darcy status.
It was clear how male-deprived the little Bennet girls were when a member of the opposite species came for tea. They almost couldn’t handle it. The excited high-pitched squeals reached decibels Mrs Bennet didn’t think possible of her five daughters.
This small Darcy however was oblivious to the impact he had on his young females and happily engaged with each, enjoying their company. He had secretly been Miss Bennet Number One’s Darcy since the first day at school, but now the relationship had changed to a more comfortable and level-headed one. Miss Bennet decided she wouldn’t be getting married for a while so potential fiancés were not to be considered just yet. Although it was strange that a year ago or so when this young Darcy had sat at their table, she had suddenly acquired a taste for broccoli and gravy, because a certain gentleman did.
As there was currently not much room in the living quarters, it was therefore rather brave of young Darcy to walk into a room of giggly girls. But he was here to do business. As school council representatives, he and Miss Bennet had set themselves a challenge to write a blog on council meetings, decisions and what they’d like to see happen at school. So Mrs Bennet sent them upstairs to work – away from the younger Bennets who clearly wanted young Darcy to play with them.
“If this happens in 10 years time, I’d quite happily have them working at the dining table where I can see them. Sending a young man into my daughter’s bedroom, would probably not be such a good idea!” she thought.
“Then I’ll be 50, have three teenage daughters and two in the wings of the hormone phase. Think of all the boyfriends? On the other hand don’t!” she told herself.
The upstairs blog writing didn’t last long. One paragraph later, they were ready for tea and downstairs they came, much to the delight of the four younger Bennet sisters, who were thrilled with their guest.
This young Darcy held his own. He left none of them out and had fun with them all. Mrs Bennet only hoped that when the time came for the grown-up Darcys to dine here, they would be as polite as this younger model. Whoever could get her daughters to eat broccoli deserved the Darcy status.
Friday, 9 January 2009
The return of the man from Milan
Friday, January 9 09
The man from Milan arrived back just before 2am. Mrs Bennet was conscious of someone creeping around the bed, with not a lot on, and presuming it was her husband, grunted and went back to sleep. Unfortunately Mr-Smiley-alarm-clock wasn't too pleased by his arrival. In her sleep, Mrs Bennet had thrown out the now cold teddy bear and it had landed on the clock, almost suffocating it. Hence it didn't ring in the morning so Mr and Mrs Bennet overslept. Neither of them were quite with it and Mrs Bennet did her best to put the military procedure into action, but it lacked the authority it normally did and rebellion set in.
"I'm not going to school unless you help me do up my shoes Mummy!" cried out an indignant Miss Bennet Number Three while she desperately tried to keep a bottom on the changing mat before it ran off in its full glory. Mrs Bennet suddenly realised she'd left porridge in the microwave too late and it merrily spewed out its white lumpy gunge. She left the uncovered bottom and ran to the kitchen, trying to clear up the gunk before the inevitable cry came from the lounge.
"Mummy, Rosie's done a wee on the carpet!"
"Oh, great.....Ok coming!" Mrs Bennet grabbed the essential cleaning tools and got on her knees to clear up the next spillage.
"Right no one else dare cough, wee, whinge or spill anything down them!" she announced to the half-dressed brood.
How they got out of the door, she didn't know. Yesterday, with the man still in Milan, she was able to function quite well, was organised and efficient. Today, with him back, she couldn't even put on matching socks and as she left the building, managed to skid on a tiny plastic Dora figurine, and had to grab on to the rather hot radiator to stop herself falling.
"Ouch!" she yelled, still not quite awake. She stumbled outside, nursing her fingers and smiled at the Darcys in the Dirt who had just arrived for the day. They were used to seeing the Mrs Bennet early-morning-look. May be they secretly admired her for coping with five daughters, or more likely they thought she was utterly mad. Mrs Batty Bennet didn't care, she smiled at them, and made a note to grow old "disgracefully."....then noticed a blob of lumpy porridge on the back of her black jeans.
The man from Milan arrived back just before 2am. Mrs Bennet was conscious of someone creeping around the bed, with not a lot on, and presuming it was her husband, grunted and went back to sleep. Unfortunately Mr-Smiley-alarm-clock wasn't too pleased by his arrival. In her sleep, Mrs Bennet had thrown out the now cold teddy bear and it had landed on the clock, almost suffocating it. Hence it didn't ring in the morning so Mr and Mrs Bennet overslept. Neither of them were quite with it and Mrs Bennet did her best to put the military procedure into action, but it lacked the authority it normally did and rebellion set in.
"I'm not going to school unless you help me do up my shoes Mummy!" cried out an indignant Miss Bennet Number Three while she desperately tried to keep a bottom on the changing mat before it ran off in its full glory. Mrs Bennet suddenly realised she'd left porridge in the microwave too late and it merrily spewed out its white lumpy gunge. She left the uncovered bottom and ran to the kitchen, trying to clear up the gunk before the inevitable cry came from the lounge.
"Mummy, Rosie's done a wee on the carpet!"
"Oh, great.....Ok coming!" Mrs Bennet grabbed the essential cleaning tools and got on her knees to clear up the next spillage.
"Right no one else dare cough, wee, whinge or spill anything down them!" she announced to the half-dressed brood.
How they got out of the door, she didn't know. Yesterday, with the man still in Milan, she was able to function quite well, was organised and efficient. Today, with him back, she couldn't even put on matching socks and as she left the building, managed to skid on a tiny plastic Dora figurine, and had to grab on to the rather hot radiator to stop herself falling.
"Ouch!" she yelled, still not quite awake. She stumbled outside, nursing her fingers and smiled at the Darcys in the Dirt who had just arrived for the day. They were used to seeing the Mrs Bennet early-morning-look. May be they secretly admired her for coping with five daughters, or more likely they thought she was utterly mad. Mrs Batty Bennet didn't care, she smiled at them, and made a note to grow old "disgracefully."....then noticed a blob of lumpy porridge on the back of her black jeans.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
Stranded in Milan
Wednesday, January 7 09
“It doesn’t look like I’m coming home tonight after all, the snow’s pretty bad here and many of the flights are being cancelled as I speak,” explained Mr Bennet with a sigh. The thought of a night sleeping on an airport bench didn’t obviously appeal to him. Mrs Bennet didn’t care whether she had a bed, chair, floor or bench so long as there were no teething twins or crying children anywhere near her. So an airport sounded quite pleasant.
Mr Bennet was in Milan. She didn’t blame him of course. Living with six females must be a bit much for the poor man. But it was a bit drastic flying to Italy and then coming up with a lame excuse not to come home. If Mr Bennet had expected to get away from this particularly cold snap and sub zero temperatures, he had been disappointed. It seemed the snow in Milan was worse.
She missed her husband when he was away. Mr Smiley-faced alarm clock was not a very good bedfellow. He was active and kept her awake for sure, but his monotonous tick was grating and as bad as finger nails scraping down a blackboard – an associated annoying sound which instantly took her back to the classroom - and did nothing for her.
However he did wake her up.
She hated admitting this to Mr Bennet, but the real reason she wanted him home was because he was kind enough to scrape her windscreen for her on these icy mornings. The fact it had iced over again by the time he left was beside the point – Mr Bennet got rid of the worst of it. The thing was she couldn’t reach the windscreen. Being 5ft, even on tiptoes, she only reached a quarter of it.
The Darcys in the Dirt were always willing to lend a hand with their trusty credit card and teased her.
“You need a step ladder to reach that!” they told her. She didn’t fancy standing on a stool in the middle of the road. So she resorted to throwing a towel over the windscreen late at night, praying it would stay there and not slide down.
Not sure when she’d see her husband again, she took herself to bed with a bar of chocolate and her microwave teddy bear for comfort. Mr Smiley-alarm- clock was still wearing his ridiculous grin, so she wound him up and stuck him as far away from her head as she possibly could. As much as she loved Mr Bennet, chocolate and a hot water bear would do just fine until the ridiculously loud clock he had bought her for Christmas (via the hands of Miss Emily Bennet) rudely awoke her to greet the bracing cold morning air. She happily dreamt of being stranded on a white sandy beach in The Sechelles.
“It doesn’t look like I’m coming home tonight after all, the snow’s pretty bad here and many of the flights are being cancelled as I speak,” explained Mr Bennet with a sigh. The thought of a night sleeping on an airport bench didn’t obviously appeal to him. Mrs Bennet didn’t care whether she had a bed, chair, floor or bench so long as there were no teething twins or crying children anywhere near her. So an airport sounded quite pleasant.
Mr Bennet was in Milan. She didn’t blame him of course. Living with six females must be a bit much for the poor man. But it was a bit drastic flying to Italy and then coming up with a lame excuse not to come home. If Mr Bennet had expected to get away from this particularly cold snap and sub zero temperatures, he had been disappointed. It seemed the snow in Milan was worse.
She missed her husband when he was away. Mr Smiley-faced alarm clock was not a very good bedfellow. He was active and kept her awake for sure, but his monotonous tick was grating and as bad as finger nails scraping down a blackboard – an associated annoying sound which instantly took her back to the classroom - and did nothing for her.
However he did wake her up.
She hated admitting this to Mr Bennet, but the real reason she wanted him home was because he was kind enough to scrape her windscreen for her on these icy mornings. The fact it had iced over again by the time he left was beside the point – Mr Bennet got rid of the worst of it. The thing was she couldn’t reach the windscreen. Being 5ft, even on tiptoes, she only reached a quarter of it.
The Darcys in the Dirt were always willing to lend a hand with their trusty credit card and teased her.
“You need a step ladder to reach that!” they told her. She didn’t fancy standing on a stool in the middle of the road. So she resorted to throwing a towel over the windscreen late at night, praying it would stay there and not slide down.
Not sure when she’d see her husband again, she took herself to bed with a bar of chocolate and her microwave teddy bear for comfort. Mr Smiley-alarm- clock was still wearing his ridiculous grin, so she wound him up and stuck him as far away from her head as she possibly could. As much as she loved Mr Bennet, chocolate and a hot water bear would do just fine until the ridiculously loud clock he had bought her for Christmas (via the hands of Miss Emily Bennet) rudely awoke her to greet the bracing cold morning air. She happily dreamt of being stranded on a white sandy beach in The Sechelles.
Monday, 5 January 2009
Mrs Bennet’s “New Year Tries”
Sunday, January 4 09
“This present comes with a special message,” Miss Emily Bennet boldly informed her mother, who was ripping off its wrapping.
“That’s lovely Emily,” replied Mrs Bennet, thinking her daughter meant a message of love and warmth.
“Mummy, what I mean is when the alarm goes off, you have to get up and not stay in bed which you normally do,” notified Miss Emily, with a grin.
The mini wind-up smiley-faced clock lasted 36 hours if properly wound up and had such a powerful tick which Mr and Mrs Bennet later discovered wouldn’t let them sleep in the first place. She did think about stuffing it under her pillow, but ended up putting it under the bed. She was yet to try out the alarm, but as the early morning school run was looming fast, she knew she’d have to use it. Getting up earlier was therefore was one of her New Year Tries. Resolutions implied commitment, and she couldn’t guarantee she would adhere to Miss Bennet’s very clear message.
“Well, she has got a point,” Mr Bennet announced. “You were leaving it a bit fine in the weeks leading up to Christmas. I mean getting up at ten past eight on a school morning is a bit much!”
“Alright you, who pretends “I didn’t really hear a twin crying on Saturday and Sunday mornings!” Mrs Bennet softly punched her husband.
“Well, you have no excuses now!” replied Mr Bennet, who had just reminded her that he was flying off to Milan on Tuesday morning and Mr Smiley Clock might be the ideal sleeping partner while he was away.
Mrs Bennet tried not to think about January too much. The Darcys in the Dirt were back first thing on Monday and in the next few weeks; they would be knocking through, removing windows and dismantling her kitchen in order to move what units they could to the back of the house.
So her New Year Try number two was this: “try not to get stressed and don’t worry about the dust on your head - it doesn’t really mean you or the babies have gone grey.”
Coupled with this “try,” was a quest to “get out of the house as much as possible.” Mr Bennet had told his wife that in rugby, every time you scored a try, you had chance to score a conversion. Trying as this New Year may be, at least she’d get the Bennet Conversion at the end of it.
“This present comes with a special message,” Miss Emily Bennet boldly informed her mother, who was ripping off its wrapping.
“That’s lovely Emily,” replied Mrs Bennet, thinking her daughter meant a message of love and warmth.
“Mummy, what I mean is when the alarm goes off, you have to get up and not stay in bed which you normally do,” notified Miss Emily, with a grin.
The mini wind-up smiley-faced clock lasted 36 hours if properly wound up and had such a powerful tick which Mr and Mrs Bennet later discovered wouldn’t let them sleep in the first place. She did think about stuffing it under her pillow, but ended up putting it under the bed. She was yet to try out the alarm, but as the early morning school run was looming fast, she knew she’d have to use it. Getting up earlier was therefore was one of her New Year Tries. Resolutions implied commitment, and she couldn’t guarantee she would adhere to Miss Bennet’s very clear message.
“Well, she has got a point,” Mr Bennet announced. “You were leaving it a bit fine in the weeks leading up to Christmas. I mean getting up at ten past eight on a school morning is a bit much!”
“Alright you, who pretends “I didn’t really hear a twin crying on Saturday and Sunday mornings!” Mrs Bennet softly punched her husband.
“Well, you have no excuses now!” replied Mr Bennet, who had just reminded her that he was flying off to Milan on Tuesday morning and Mr Smiley Clock might be the ideal sleeping partner while he was away.
Mrs Bennet tried not to think about January too much. The Darcys in the Dirt were back first thing on Monday and in the next few weeks; they would be knocking through, removing windows and dismantling her kitchen in order to move what units they could to the back of the house.
So her New Year Try number two was this: “try not to get stressed and don’t worry about the dust on your head - it doesn’t really mean you or the babies have gone grey.”
Coupled with this “try,” was a quest to “get out of the house as much as possible.” Mr Bennet had told his wife that in rugby, every time you scored a try, you had chance to score a conversion. Trying as this New Year may be, at least she’d get the Bennet Conversion at the end of it.
Some things don't change
Thursday, January 1 09
The New Year was starting just as the old one had ended. Miss Bennet Number four was sitting on her twin sister’s head; Miss Bennet Number three was coughing and spluttering, informing the world for the umpteenth time that she had a runny nose; the older Miss Bennets were accusing each other of cheating at a board game and Miss Bennet Number Five was understandably upset that her hairstyle was now ruined. It was however a vast improvement on last year. Mrs Bennet had rapidly left a New Years Eve party as one of the twins had vomited violently over one of her friends, transforming his favourite t-shirt from black to white. Mrs Bennet and Miss Rosie Bennet ended up at the local hospital, as the baby clearly wasn’t well and her mother wasn’t taking any chances. Just before the party started, one of the older Miss Bennets had picked Miss Rosie up, but accidentally dropped her on the carpet. A bumped head, followed by sickness didn’t look good. The doctors wanted Rosie in Gloucester overnight.
“But she’s a twin and I’m feeding them both, she can’t go until I go home and get her sister!” exclaimed Mrs Bennet. So off the babies went, milk bar in tow. The cow slept on a put-me-up bed, enjoying the most peaceful New Year’s Day ever, with two happy babies – Rosie clearly fine and enjoying the attention.
This year, with five mobile, vocal excited daughters and a confined space to live in, the word “peace” didn’t come into the equation. However, now the cow days were over, 2009 marked a new start – a new decade - for Mrs Bennet. After carrying and feeding five calves, she finally had her body parts back – even if they did feel like the unwanted Christmas present wrapping. The big four-O loomed and toy boy Mr Bennet frequently reminded her she was getting old. But Mrs Bennet no longer cared. Vowing to keep her purple and red streaked hair, she determined to stay young on the inside, and as long as her humour was in tact, she would laugh her way through the teenage phase. Yes her home was chaos, but a happy chaos. And as 2009 began Mrs Bennet promised herself to escape to her office when she could and employ Mr Latte as her shed companion.
The New Year was starting just as the old one had ended. Miss Bennet Number four was sitting on her twin sister’s head; Miss Bennet Number three was coughing and spluttering, informing the world for the umpteenth time that she had a runny nose; the older Miss Bennets were accusing each other of cheating at a board game and Miss Bennet Number Five was understandably upset that her hairstyle was now ruined. It was however a vast improvement on last year. Mrs Bennet had rapidly left a New Years Eve party as one of the twins had vomited violently over one of her friends, transforming his favourite t-shirt from black to white. Mrs Bennet and Miss Rosie Bennet ended up at the local hospital, as the baby clearly wasn’t well and her mother wasn’t taking any chances. Just before the party started, one of the older Miss Bennets had picked Miss Rosie up, but accidentally dropped her on the carpet. A bumped head, followed by sickness didn’t look good. The doctors wanted Rosie in Gloucester overnight.
“But she’s a twin and I’m feeding them both, she can’t go until I go home and get her sister!” exclaimed Mrs Bennet. So off the babies went, milk bar in tow. The cow slept on a put-me-up bed, enjoying the most peaceful New Year’s Day ever, with two happy babies – Rosie clearly fine and enjoying the attention.
This year, with five mobile, vocal excited daughters and a confined space to live in, the word “peace” didn’t come into the equation. However, now the cow days were over, 2009 marked a new start – a new decade - for Mrs Bennet. After carrying and feeding five calves, she finally had her body parts back – even if they did feel like the unwanted Christmas present wrapping. The big four-O loomed and toy boy Mr Bennet frequently reminded her she was getting old. But Mrs Bennet no longer cared. Vowing to keep her purple and red streaked hair, she determined to stay young on the inside, and as long as her humour was in tact, she would laugh her way through the teenage phase. Yes her home was chaos, but a happy chaos. And as 2009 began Mrs Bennet promised herself to escape to her office when she could and employ Mr Latte as her shed companion.
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