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?
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Thursday, 17 September 2009
Getting Past Go - The Avalanche Effect
Thursday, September 17 ‘09
Having accepted that passing go was an impossible mission; out of sheer curiosity and for her own amusement Mrs Bennet decided to take note of the unforeseen daily factors against her. Of course there were six factors before anything else came into the equation: a harassed Mummy Bennet and five little Miss Bennets who all needed clothing, feeding, teeth and hair brushing, and finally shoeing - both on their feet and out the door. Having had a few years of school run experience, Mrs Bennet knew it made absolutely no difference as to what time she got up. If she was up at 6am, with all the shoes, coats, book bags, nappy bags and lunch boxes packed and lined up in orderly fashion in the taking off pad – the hallway – she would invariably still be late because at the 11th hour a distraught Miss Bennet insisted she had to have something really urgently and that it had to be found there and then or else her world would fall apart.
Today all was going well. Mrs Bennet had been given a “good girl” sticker for not raising her voice and all five Miss Bennets were in the boarding gate awaiting their flight. It was Mrs Bennet who had forgotten something – vital toiletries – and sped upstairs to find them. With the sheep dog now out of sight, the younger Miss Bennets began to wander and the middle one started to look for a coat.
Whizzing from upstairs, into the lounge and through the kitchen to pick up a bottle of water as she went, Mrs Bennet returned to the boarding gate to find three of her flock missing. One was pulling out all the blankets ready to set up a home, the other climbing on a chair ready to start colouring. A cry from the walk-in cupboard indicated the whereabouts of the other.
“Help Mummy, help!”
Following the shout, Mrs Bennet found her five-year-old hidden under an avalanche of coats. The entire coat rail had fallen off the wall and its contents had spewed onto the unsuspecting child. A bewildered face balancing skew-whiff spectacles on the nose looked up at her.
“I didn’t do anything Mummy. I only wanted my coat not everyone else’s!” she declared.
Wishing the Darcys in the Dirt were back on the scene and wishing Mr Bennet was good at DIY, Mrs Bennet set her child free and spent the next five minutes hunting out matching shoes from underneath the soft mountain.
Five minutes she didn’t have.
But it wasn’t just the clothes avalanche preventing her passing go. The recycle van drove into her close, just as she was trying to reverse off the drive. They had no time for mothers on a mission. They weren’t going to budge until every green box was emptied. And as Scooby Doo van had a rather large bottom and couldn’t squeeze through the six zero space available it had to sit motionless as the minutes slipped miserably by. Mrs Bennet had failed to pass go yet again through no fault of her own.
Having accepted that passing go was an impossible mission; out of sheer curiosity and for her own amusement Mrs Bennet decided to take note of the unforeseen daily factors against her. Of course there were six factors before anything else came into the equation: a harassed Mummy Bennet and five little Miss Bennets who all needed clothing, feeding, teeth and hair brushing, and finally shoeing - both on their feet and out the door. Having had a few years of school run experience, Mrs Bennet knew it made absolutely no difference as to what time she got up. If she was up at 6am, with all the shoes, coats, book bags, nappy bags and lunch boxes packed and lined up in orderly fashion in the taking off pad – the hallway – she would invariably still be late because at the 11th hour a distraught Miss Bennet insisted she had to have something really urgently and that it had to be found there and then or else her world would fall apart.
Today all was going well. Mrs Bennet had been given a “good girl” sticker for not raising her voice and all five Miss Bennets were in the boarding gate awaiting their flight. It was Mrs Bennet who had forgotten something – vital toiletries – and sped upstairs to find them. With the sheep dog now out of sight, the younger Miss Bennets began to wander and the middle one started to look for a coat.
Whizzing from upstairs, into the lounge and through the kitchen to pick up a bottle of water as she went, Mrs Bennet returned to the boarding gate to find three of her flock missing. One was pulling out all the blankets ready to set up a home, the other climbing on a chair ready to start colouring. A cry from the walk-in cupboard indicated the whereabouts of the other.
“Help Mummy, help!”
Following the shout, Mrs Bennet found her five-year-old hidden under an avalanche of coats. The entire coat rail had fallen off the wall and its contents had spewed onto the unsuspecting child. A bewildered face balancing skew-whiff spectacles on the nose looked up at her.
“I didn’t do anything Mummy. I only wanted my coat not everyone else’s!” she declared.
Wishing the Darcys in the Dirt were back on the scene and wishing Mr Bennet was good at DIY, Mrs Bennet set her child free and spent the next five minutes hunting out matching shoes from underneath the soft mountain.
Five minutes she didn’t have.
But it wasn’t just the clothes avalanche preventing her passing go. The recycle van drove into her close, just as she was trying to reverse off the drive. They had no time for mothers on a mission. They weren’t going to budge until every green box was emptied. And as Scooby Doo van had a rather large bottom and couldn’t squeeze through the six zero space available it had to sit motionless as the minutes slipped miserably by. Mrs Bennet had failed to pass go yet again through no fault of her own.
Monday, 14 September 2009
Getting past go
Monday, September 14 '09
Mrs Bennet realised she would never win the game of monopoly when it came to the school run. If she could get past go – the front door – without shouting, tripping over a piece of Lego or Barbie shoe, returning several times to retrieve a forgotten lunchbox, book bag or coat; she might, just might, earn her £200. Well ok, five minutes with soothing Mr Latte would do. But this morning – the 12th morning since the new school term had started – she realised that winning was impossible. Winning was an illusion. Instead she felt she was being sent to gaol for bad behaviour.
“I was a nice person before I had children. I never shouted and I thought I had patience,” she told the five little Bennets as they were finally strapped into the car and therefore couldn’t move. She was cross with them, but even crosser with herself. Quite frankly she was fed up with hearing the sound of her own voice.
“How many times have I asked you to get your socks on? Yes you do have to get up! No you can’t wear that to school! Will you please get off Kezia’s head Rosie, and where oh where is the brush?”
Set to music, the monotonous droning moans of Mrs Bennet’s firing orders at her unruly soldiers wouldn’t sound so bad. In fact a bit of Mars by Holtz in the background could prove quite atmospheric. But long were the days when the soft sounds of classical music serenaded her as she dressed – by herself. How had she turned into such a “shouty” individual? Somehow she had managed to throw any parenting skills she had kidded herself she had, down the plughole along with the congealed blobs of toothpaste which always seemed to get spat out and stuck to the sink. One morning she’d found the white goo on the floor, wall and glass panel of the shower unit and had to scrape it off with a knife.
“No time for toothpaste checks this morning,” mumbled Mrs Bennet, as she mentally went through her check list.
“Three book bags, check. Three lunch bags, check. One nappy bag with at least two nappies in, check. One handbag with phone to call for help, check. One Mummy, check. Five children, check. Five coats on children, check. Right shoes on right children, check. Six sets of teeth cleaned? No? Three out of six will have to do, check. Six heads brushed? Looks as if two have, fingers will have to do with rest, check. Can’t afford to stay in house any longer. We really are late now. Where are the keys? Not on hook where they should be. Last seen rattling in a tiny hand heading towards dolls house. After quick search, keys are found in bath with a toy goat. Brain? Not sure it can be found so easily. Most of it got eaten by three placentas followed by an oversized version due to twins. No hope then. Still it doesn’t excuse shouting behaviour. Must try and be more organised, not work so late at night and get up earlier, preferably BEFORE children.”
Check list complete, the children were strapped in the Scooby Doo van, leaving the house to sigh in beautiful peace. Mrs Bennet was tempted to stay there. But onwards to school she must, even if slightly late. She may not get her £200 this morning, but she could do with picking up a Chance card. It might take her to Mayfair. But Mrs Bennet knew school runs didn’t go there.
Mrs Bennet realised she would never win the game of monopoly when it came to the school run. If she could get past go – the front door – without shouting, tripping over a piece of Lego or Barbie shoe, returning several times to retrieve a forgotten lunchbox, book bag or coat; she might, just might, earn her £200. Well ok, five minutes with soothing Mr Latte would do. But this morning – the 12th morning since the new school term had started – she realised that winning was impossible. Winning was an illusion. Instead she felt she was being sent to gaol for bad behaviour.
“I was a nice person before I had children. I never shouted and I thought I had patience,” she told the five little Bennets as they were finally strapped into the car and therefore couldn’t move. She was cross with them, but even crosser with herself. Quite frankly she was fed up with hearing the sound of her own voice.
“How many times have I asked you to get your socks on? Yes you do have to get up! No you can’t wear that to school! Will you please get off Kezia’s head Rosie, and where oh where is the brush?”
Set to music, the monotonous droning moans of Mrs Bennet’s firing orders at her unruly soldiers wouldn’t sound so bad. In fact a bit of Mars by Holtz in the background could prove quite atmospheric. But long were the days when the soft sounds of classical music serenaded her as she dressed – by herself. How had she turned into such a “shouty” individual? Somehow she had managed to throw any parenting skills she had kidded herself she had, down the plughole along with the congealed blobs of toothpaste which always seemed to get spat out and stuck to the sink. One morning she’d found the white goo on the floor, wall and glass panel of the shower unit and had to scrape it off with a knife.
“No time for toothpaste checks this morning,” mumbled Mrs Bennet, as she mentally went through her check list.
“Three book bags, check. Three lunch bags, check. One nappy bag with at least two nappies in, check. One handbag with phone to call for help, check. One Mummy, check. Five children, check. Five coats on children, check. Right shoes on right children, check. Six sets of teeth cleaned? No? Three out of six will have to do, check. Six heads brushed? Looks as if two have, fingers will have to do with rest, check. Can’t afford to stay in house any longer. We really are late now. Where are the keys? Not on hook where they should be. Last seen rattling in a tiny hand heading towards dolls house. After quick search, keys are found in bath with a toy goat. Brain? Not sure it can be found so easily. Most of it got eaten by three placentas followed by an oversized version due to twins. No hope then. Still it doesn’t excuse shouting behaviour. Must try and be more organised, not work so late at night and get up earlier, preferably BEFORE children.”
Check list complete, the children were strapped in the Scooby Doo van, leaving the house to sigh in beautiful peace. Mrs Bennet was tempted to stay there. But onwards to school she must, even if slightly late. She may not get her £200 this morning, but she could do with picking up a Chance card. It might take her to Mayfair. But Mrs Bennet knew school runs didn’t go there.
Monday, 7 September 2009
Spag and Bol’s t-towel and trolley war
Monday, September 7 ‘09
Sibling squabbles were frequent in the Bennet household despite the fact there were now more rooms to escape to. Mrs Bennet dived into the shoe cupboard now and then so she didn’t hear the “Mummy she hit me!” and “And she deliberately scribbled on my drawing!” Mrs Bennet realised the quarrelling was part of her life for the foreseeable future. The more children you have, the more likely at some part in the day, one combination or another will fall out, sit on each other, stick a tongue out or want the same toy/book at the same time.
Spag and Bol, the little Twin Bennets were having a tug of war with a t-towel. Sitting in their respective blue booster seats with matching brown beards due to a chocolate pudding indulgence, they both wanted to hold the rather faded, holey t-towel. Spag (alias Rosie), being somewhat bigger all round was winning as Bol (alias Kezia) was being lifted a few inches out of her chair, yet refusing to let go. The shouts were getting louder in the dining room. The giggles were getting louder in the adjoining, open plan kitchen. Mr and Mrs Bennet, amused by Miss Bennet Number Four and Five’s sudden fascination for a scraggly t-towel, were quite enjoying the spectacle; waiting in the wings to rescue the smaller twin who looked like she was about to fly across the room with a blue plastic seat attached to her bottom. She may have lost in strength, but she made up for it in cheek and charm. And the one nil down score only sought to give her extra determination to get even with her 20-minute-older sister.
The revenge came during a shopping episode. Mrs Bennet, having failed in her search for a double-seated trolley, decided to walk her toddlers in with the help of Jannie, her lovely mum. This was fine until Bol, with her extra vigilant eyes, spotted a mini trolley parked in the entrance ready for potential two-year-old shoppers. She ran to it, claimed it as her own, and grinned victoriously at Spag, who realising there wasn’t a trolley for her, threw her faithful battered and well-loved rabbit on the floor in disgust and herself down with it. Mrs Bennet wanted to leave them to it; pretend they didn’t belong to her and walk out. Only they did belong to her and the supermarket staff knew they did too. Bol had got her revenge. And despite pleas from both Mrs Bennet and Jannie; and screams from Spag, Bol refused to let go of the said trolley and pushed it round the aisles…and occasionally into people….with a vice grip.
Whilst Mrs Bennet understood her elder twin’s upset at the unfairness of life, she couldn’t magic another tiny trolley to appear and neither could the staff. Trying to reason with a two-year-old who was sobbing was like trying to find a minute precious ring stone in the midst of a batch of bread dough. As Mrs Bennet knew from bitter experience, you just had to wait until cooking time was over.
Half an hour later, another trolley was delivered to a now pacified twin who was sitting quietly, trying to get a straw into a bottle of water in the café area. Mrs Bennet was taking refuge in her forgotten friend Mr Latte, who on occasions such as this had become a firm companion for Jannie too. The war had ended. Peace between the twins was momentarily made. And side by side they pushed their matching trolleys up the wide aisles, chatting amicably to one another, creating smiles and not too much havoc as they went. Although Mrs Bennet was sure she didn’t put Cock-a-leekie or Oxtail soup on her shopping list! The twin tug-o-war score: one each to Spag and Bol. Mummy nil.
Sibling squabbles were frequent in the Bennet household despite the fact there were now more rooms to escape to. Mrs Bennet dived into the shoe cupboard now and then so she didn’t hear the “Mummy she hit me!” and “And she deliberately scribbled on my drawing!” Mrs Bennet realised the quarrelling was part of her life for the foreseeable future. The more children you have, the more likely at some part in the day, one combination or another will fall out, sit on each other, stick a tongue out or want the same toy/book at the same time.
Spag and Bol, the little Twin Bennets were having a tug of war with a t-towel. Sitting in their respective blue booster seats with matching brown beards due to a chocolate pudding indulgence, they both wanted to hold the rather faded, holey t-towel. Spag (alias Rosie), being somewhat bigger all round was winning as Bol (alias Kezia) was being lifted a few inches out of her chair, yet refusing to let go. The shouts were getting louder in the dining room. The giggles were getting louder in the adjoining, open plan kitchen. Mr and Mrs Bennet, amused by Miss Bennet Number Four and Five’s sudden fascination for a scraggly t-towel, were quite enjoying the spectacle; waiting in the wings to rescue the smaller twin who looked like she was about to fly across the room with a blue plastic seat attached to her bottom. She may have lost in strength, but she made up for it in cheek and charm. And the one nil down score only sought to give her extra determination to get even with her 20-minute-older sister.
The revenge came during a shopping episode. Mrs Bennet, having failed in her search for a double-seated trolley, decided to walk her toddlers in with the help of Jannie, her lovely mum. This was fine until Bol, with her extra vigilant eyes, spotted a mini trolley parked in the entrance ready for potential two-year-old shoppers. She ran to it, claimed it as her own, and grinned victoriously at Spag, who realising there wasn’t a trolley for her, threw her faithful battered and well-loved rabbit on the floor in disgust and herself down with it. Mrs Bennet wanted to leave them to it; pretend they didn’t belong to her and walk out. Only they did belong to her and the supermarket staff knew they did too. Bol had got her revenge. And despite pleas from both Mrs Bennet and Jannie; and screams from Spag, Bol refused to let go of the said trolley and pushed it round the aisles…and occasionally into people….with a vice grip.
Whilst Mrs Bennet understood her elder twin’s upset at the unfairness of life, she couldn’t magic another tiny trolley to appear and neither could the staff. Trying to reason with a two-year-old who was sobbing was like trying to find a minute precious ring stone in the midst of a batch of bread dough. As Mrs Bennet knew from bitter experience, you just had to wait until cooking time was over.
Half an hour later, another trolley was delivered to a now pacified twin who was sitting quietly, trying to get a straw into a bottle of water in the café area. Mrs Bennet was taking refuge in her forgotten friend Mr Latte, who on occasions such as this had become a firm companion for Jannie too. The war had ended. Peace between the twins was momentarily made. And side by side they pushed their matching trolleys up the wide aisles, chatting amicably to one another, creating smiles and not too much havoc as they went. Although Mrs Bennet was sure she didn’t put Cock-a-leekie or Oxtail soup on her shopping list! The twin tug-o-war score: one each to Spag and Bol. Mummy nil.
Monday, 24 August 2009
Bennets Abroad
August 12 '09
Friends thought she was mad to take five little girls to Spain, but Mrs Bennet thought it was just as mad to take them out anywhere in the summer holidays. It was quicker to fly to Valencia than it was to drive to Liverpool. And at least she had Mr Bennet's arms and legs to call on for extra support. And anyway it was a Bennet adventure. Mrs Bennet liked challenges. Even if they were at 35,000 feet calming down two two-year-olds who couldn't work out what had happened to their ears and why there were clouds below and alongside them when they were usually up in the air. Miss Naomi Bennet had just turned three last time she has ascended and Miss Emily a mere seventeen months. The whole flying experience through the eyes of five little Bennet girls made it all the more interesting. Miss Naomi impressed by her airport surroundings couldn't help but utter a "wow this is amazing!" Miss Emily, the time-keeper of rhe family exclaimed every few minutes, "are we going to miss our flight?!" Miss Megan, who didn't like having "hurty" ears, kept shouting out, "I've lost my voice and it's not coming back?" as she couldn't understand it was her hearing she'd lost. Mrs Bennet tried to get her to pop her ears by holding her nose and blowing hard or swallowing. Miss Megan knew about the potential ear problem from a Topsy and Tim book. But they had been given a sweet to suck by the air hostess. Miss Megan was quite upset she hadn't so Mrs Bennet tried to save the day by providing the glucose. It only served to upset her offspring more as Miss Megan swallowed it before descent. "Oh no, I've eaten it!" she announced panic-stricken, a state of mind which stayed with her until five hours later when the "pop" happened and her "voice" returned. The little Miss Twin Bennets just saw the airport as a new playground, somewhere to run and explore. Miss Rosie was understandably distraught however when her precious bunny was taken off her to be scanned and then her pushchair disappeared on a conveyor belt, in her eyes, never to be seen again! As for Mr Bennet? He enjoyed his single seat taking off but Mrs Bennet insisted he swapped for landing. Being the filling in a twin sandwich had its own taste of turbulence! He also wished he had booked a bigger hire car. A seven seater car with no boot space with seven bennets, two pushchairs, five lots of hand luggage and four suitcases to fit in, left him dripping with sweat and his wife praying for a miracle that somehow they'd achieve the impossible and get everything in. Somehow they did and somehow they managed to find their villa. Were they mad? Yes but it was worth it to have the adventure..... and a chilled bottle of beer sitting on a balcony overlooking a huge expanse of Mediterranean sea. Mr Bennet looked good after a day in Spanish sun, jumping waves and messing about with his little women. The cacophony of giggles after endless splashing in the pool was music to Mrs Bennet's ears. May be turning forty wasn't going to be too bad.
Friends thought she was mad to take five little girls to Spain, but Mrs Bennet thought it was just as mad to take them out anywhere in the summer holidays. It was quicker to fly to Valencia than it was to drive to Liverpool. And at least she had Mr Bennet's arms and legs to call on for extra support. And anyway it was a Bennet adventure. Mrs Bennet liked challenges. Even if they were at 35,000 feet calming down two two-year-olds who couldn't work out what had happened to their ears and why there were clouds below and alongside them when they were usually up in the air. Miss Naomi Bennet had just turned three last time she has ascended and Miss Emily a mere seventeen months. The whole flying experience through the eyes of five little Bennet girls made it all the more interesting. Miss Naomi impressed by her airport surroundings couldn't help but utter a "wow this is amazing!" Miss Emily, the time-keeper of rhe family exclaimed every few minutes, "are we going to miss our flight?!" Miss Megan, who didn't like having "hurty" ears, kept shouting out, "I've lost my voice and it's not coming back?" as she couldn't understand it was her hearing she'd lost. Mrs Bennet tried to get her to pop her ears by holding her nose and blowing hard or swallowing. Miss Megan knew about the potential ear problem from a Topsy and Tim book. But they had been given a sweet to suck by the air hostess. Miss Megan was quite upset she hadn't so Mrs Bennet tried to save the day by providing the glucose. It only served to upset her offspring more as Miss Megan swallowed it before descent. "Oh no, I've eaten it!" she announced panic-stricken, a state of mind which stayed with her until five hours later when the "pop" happened and her "voice" returned. The little Miss Twin Bennets just saw the airport as a new playground, somewhere to run and explore. Miss Rosie was understandably distraught however when her precious bunny was taken off her to be scanned and then her pushchair disappeared on a conveyor belt, in her eyes, never to be seen again! As for Mr Bennet? He enjoyed his single seat taking off but Mrs Bennet insisted he swapped for landing. Being the filling in a twin sandwich had its own taste of turbulence! He also wished he had booked a bigger hire car. A seven seater car with no boot space with seven bennets, two pushchairs, five lots of hand luggage and four suitcases to fit in, left him dripping with sweat and his wife praying for a miracle that somehow they'd achieve the impossible and get everything in. Somehow they did and somehow they managed to find their villa. Were they mad? Yes but it was worth it to have the adventure..... and a chilled bottle of beer sitting on a balcony overlooking a huge expanse of Mediterranean sea. Mr Bennet looked good after a day in Spanish sun, jumping waves and messing about with his little women. The cacophony of giggles after endless splashing in the pool was music to Mrs Bennet's ears. May be turning forty wasn't going to be too bad.
Monday, 27 July 2009
The Browning Banana Effect
Monday, July 27 2009
Two lonely bananas looked lost in the Bennet fruit bowl, which a few hours ago, had been brimming with ripe apples. One sitting at the dining table meant the bananas were now bereft of their crunchier pals. Five hungry mouths had chomped their way to the cores, now left for Mrs Bennet to clear away.
“That will be me and Mrs Bennet in a few years time,” thought Mrs Bennet as she took the banana-only fruit bowl into the kitchen to refill, this time with tiny oranges, the “easy peeler” kind.
The bananas didn’t look as fresh as they did on Friday. Their brown freckled patches were now more noticeable against the yellow skin. They didn’t seem so appealing and Mrs Bennet knew they’d end up as banana cake if not consumed within the next 24 hours.
“Where does time go?” she thought sadly. She didn’t want to be 40. It sounded so old. Well it had sounded really old when she was about 15. And it didn’t seem five minutes since she was at secondary school, mulling over which A level subjects to take.
Last night she had been looking at baby photos with Miss Naomi Bennet and laughing at the funny comments she had included in her first year book. None of the other Miss Bennets had such a book. Mrs Bennet had had time on her hands when Miss Naomi had arrived. Miss Emily had half a book, but Miss Megan, Miss Rosie and Miss Kezia didn’t stand a chance of getting a completed diary. Mrs Bennet felt guilty about it. She was so busy looking after them, feeling like the ball in a pin-ball machine, pinging from task to task, child to child, she often failed to take a photo of the occasion let alone get the opportunity to develop them or put them in an album. One day maybe? What hit her was how young she had looked. It certainly wasn’t the face she had seen in the mirror this morning. Like the banana, it had brown marks on it, slightly wrinkled and a little jaded. Her teeth were no longer as white – in fact one was missing – and she looked, well older. It hadn’t helped that most of the past ten years had been deprived of sleep or that her body had produced five children, was constantly on the go and no longer knew was rest meant. In fact if she was honest she really felt like a discarded banana peel. Since the little Miss Twin Bennets’ arrival, she’d spent countless hours in “tighten your asset” classes trying to get her “peel” to stick back together. If you looked closely you’d see it didn’t quite match. But thankfully only Mr Bennet got that close.
Right now Mrs Bennet didn’t want time to move. She wanted to freeze moments – the infectious giggle of Miss Kezia Bennet who ran away at the mention of “nappy change”; the innocent writing and simple loveable drawings Miss Megan Bennet constantly produced; the Tigger-like bounce in Miss Emily Bennet’s step, the wonderful smattering of freckles dusting Miss Naomi Bennet’s nose and the way Miss Rosie Bennet sucked her fingers and cuddled her bunny when she was tired. Mr Bennet who frequently delighted in reminding her that he was younger than herself, seemed to have worn better. Granted, he had less hair and perhaps more padding, but his smile was still as bright and he certainly didn’t have any stretch marks. He didn’t look so tired either.
Mrs Bennet hoped the next decade would bring more sleep, but somehow she knew more grey hairs, wrinkles and age spots would arrive. Like the uneaten banana, left in the fruit bowl after the younger crispier fruit had long gone, she hoped she would still be useful. But then there was always the chance she and Mr Bennet would make a good banana cake in their ripening years.
Two lonely bananas looked lost in the Bennet fruit bowl, which a few hours ago, had been brimming with ripe apples. One sitting at the dining table meant the bananas were now bereft of their crunchier pals. Five hungry mouths had chomped their way to the cores, now left for Mrs Bennet to clear away.
“That will be me and Mrs Bennet in a few years time,” thought Mrs Bennet as she took the banana-only fruit bowl into the kitchen to refill, this time with tiny oranges, the “easy peeler” kind.
The bananas didn’t look as fresh as they did on Friday. Their brown freckled patches were now more noticeable against the yellow skin. They didn’t seem so appealing and Mrs Bennet knew they’d end up as banana cake if not consumed within the next 24 hours.
“Where does time go?” she thought sadly. She didn’t want to be 40. It sounded so old. Well it had sounded really old when she was about 15. And it didn’t seem five minutes since she was at secondary school, mulling over which A level subjects to take.
Last night she had been looking at baby photos with Miss Naomi Bennet and laughing at the funny comments she had included in her first year book. None of the other Miss Bennets had such a book. Mrs Bennet had had time on her hands when Miss Naomi had arrived. Miss Emily had half a book, but Miss Megan, Miss Rosie and Miss Kezia didn’t stand a chance of getting a completed diary. Mrs Bennet felt guilty about it. She was so busy looking after them, feeling like the ball in a pin-ball machine, pinging from task to task, child to child, she often failed to take a photo of the occasion let alone get the opportunity to develop them or put them in an album. One day maybe? What hit her was how young she had looked. It certainly wasn’t the face she had seen in the mirror this morning. Like the banana, it had brown marks on it, slightly wrinkled and a little jaded. Her teeth were no longer as white – in fact one was missing – and she looked, well older. It hadn’t helped that most of the past ten years had been deprived of sleep or that her body had produced five children, was constantly on the go and no longer knew was rest meant. In fact if she was honest she really felt like a discarded banana peel. Since the little Miss Twin Bennets’ arrival, she’d spent countless hours in “tighten your asset” classes trying to get her “peel” to stick back together. If you looked closely you’d see it didn’t quite match. But thankfully only Mr Bennet got that close.
Right now Mrs Bennet didn’t want time to move. She wanted to freeze moments – the infectious giggle of Miss Kezia Bennet who ran away at the mention of “nappy change”; the innocent writing and simple loveable drawings Miss Megan Bennet constantly produced; the Tigger-like bounce in Miss Emily Bennet’s step, the wonderful smattering of freckles dusting Miss Naomi Bennet’s nose and the way Miss Rosie Bennet sucked her fingers and cuddled her bunny when she was tired. Mr Bennet who frequently delighted in reminding her that he was younger than herself, seemed to have worn better. Granted, he had less hair and perhaps more padding, but his smile was still as bright and he certainly didn’t have any stretch marks. He didn’t look so tired either.
Mrs Bennet hoped the next decade would bring more sleep, but somehow she knew more grey hairs, wrinkles and age spots would arrive. Like the uneaten banana, left in the fruit bowl after the younger crispier fruit had long gone, she hoped she would still be useful. But then there was always the chance she and Mr Bennet would make a good banana cake in their ripening years.
Thursday, 16 July 2009
Peer Pressure versus Purse Pressure
Thursday, July 16 09
“Now I’m going to have to wear my school uniform. I don’t have anything to wear and my friends will laugh at me,” said an angry Miss Bennet Number One as she stormed off in the direction of her bedroom.
Mrs Bennet was a bad Mummy, a stingy Mummy and a Mummy who didn’t care. That was the current opinion of her eldest daughter. On occasion, Mrs Bennet felt outnumbered by her offspring. Today she was quite grateful that she had more than one daughter. There was at least 20 per cent chance that one of them would be having an “I love my Mummy” day.
Tomorrow was the last day of school before the long stretch of summer holidays – which like a remote landscape seemed to go on for miles and miles. It was non-uniform day so children had the privilege of paying to wear what they wanted. Only it seemed when they did reappear in their own gear, instead of the usual sea of green, it was now a sea of denim.
“All my friends are wearing a skirt in the morning. I don’t have one so can you go and buy the one I liked in Tesco please?” Miss Bennet Number One had asked.
The answer of course had been no. Although Mrs Bennet treated her children when she could, she was not going down this road. You buy a new skirt for one; you buy one for four more. And anyway there were two more Miss Bennets taking part in non-uniform day. It could prove a very expensive last day of term if she gave in.
That’s why she was considered Mean Mummy. Peer pressure versus purse pressure didn’t work. The pennies in the purse, or coppers to be more precise won. There weren’t enough to buy a waist band today let alone a full garment.
Miss Bennet Number One wasn’t open to reason. Instead she took herself to bed, snuggled under the covers and pretended to sleep. Eventually she returned downstairs in her chosen non-uniform attire – jeans and t-shirt. She didn’t wear a smile. But Mrs Bennet decided the only way of dealing with pre-teenage strops was ignoring it and changing tact. So instead of imitating the sulk, she tickled her eldest daughter until she could do nothing else but giggle. Dimples and denim went so much better together.
“Now I’m going to have to wear my school uniform. I don’t have anything to wear and my friends will laugh at me,” said an angry Miss Bennet Number One as she stormed off in the direction of her bedroom.
Mrs Bennet was a bad Mummy, a stingy Mummy and a Mummy who didn’t care. That was the current opinion of her eldest daughter. On occasion, Mrs Bennet felt outnumbered by her offspring. Today she was quite grateful that she had more than one daughter. There was at least 20 per cent chance that one of them would be having an “I love my Mummy” day.
Tomorrow was the last day of school before the long stretch of summer holidays – which like a remote landscape seemed to go on for miles and miles. It was non-uniform day so children had the privilege of paying to wear what they wanted. Only it seemed when they did reappear in their own gear, instead of the usual sea of green, it was now a sea of denim.
“All my friends are wearing a skirt in the morning. I don’t have one so can you go and buy the one I liked in Tesco please?” Miss Bennet Number One had asked.
The answer of course had been no. Although Mrs Bennet treated her children when she could, she was not going down this road. You buy a new skirt for one; you buy one for four more. And anyway there were two more Miss Bennets taking part in non-uniform day. It could prove a very expensive last day of term if she gave in.
That’s why she was considered Mean Mummy. Peer pressure versus purse pressure didn’t work. The pennies in the purse, or coppers to be more precise won. There weren’t enough to buy a waist band today let alone a full garment.
Miss Bennet Number One wasn’t open to reason. Instead she took herself to bed, snuggled under the covers and pretended to sleep. Eventually she returned downstairs in her chosen non-uniform attire – jeans and t-shirt. She didn’t wear a smile. But Mrs Bennet decided the only way of dealing with pre-teenage strops was ignoring it and changing tact. So instead of imitating the sulk, she tickled her eldest daughter until she could do nothing else but giggle. Dimples and denim went so much better together.
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