Friday, January 29 2010
There was something about freedom which was addictive. Mrs. Bennet had had a taste of unclipped wings and now that she was back in the restraints of her four walls and six other Bennets, she wanted to escape and soar through the sky. Not that she wanted to leave them or live without these precious people, it was just ever so often she just needed to retreat to that quiet place where she could go to the toilet in peace, drink a coffee that didn’t go cold and have a meal made for her instead of creatively trying to think how to feed six mouths without one of them inevitably moaning about the final offering.
For the first time in 20 years, Mrs. Bennet had spent the weekend in a plush hotel with her sister. Once they had driven aimlessly around Cardiff city centre trying to find their destination – without the help of Mr. Tom Tom or an up-to-date map – they were quite happy to flop in the hotel’s restaurant with a large glass of wine and relish what hours they had. There was something magical about being sisters. One shared a sense of time and history, stories of loved ones past and present, and adventures and experiences money couldn’t by. As the age gap wasn’t huge, neither sister in this case could remember a time without the other. Everyday life couldn’t be more extreme, yet this constantness, this grounding, this respect and unconditional acceptance was the underlying force which gelled them together – and a mutual interest in art and retail therapy!
In her Tuesday evening art class, Mrs. Bennet’s challenge was to paint an oil landscape with palette knife only. She worked from a photograph she’d taken of Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium. She accentuated the colours, pushing them to the limit and relished in the freedom of using the knife. She wanted it to reflect the freedom she had felt over the weekend. Really she was greedy for more so maybe this would serve as a reminder of what there was if only she could grab a few minutes to appreciate it. Everyone needed a break at times, but what was it about mothers and leaving their children even for a day or two? Why did guilt threaten and hover like a black cloud. Mr. Bennet was more than capable of handling his little ladies. Yes he did experience some inner conflicts and refusals to help in putting toys away, but able he was and kind to let his wife treat his sister-in-law. Mrs. Bennet had felt like a new woman away. She had even been persuaded to buy a dress: an item foreign to her body and wardrobe. Mr. Bennet certainly hadn’t seen his wife’s legs out in public since their wedding day.
It was unfortunate that she arrived home after a storm. Mr. Bennet had lost his cool with his daughters and after asking them several times to tidy up, without success, had at the last resort, scooped every item on the floor up in a black plastic bag and dumped it in the garden. This hadn’t gone down too well with the Bennet girls and somehow in the midst of the uproar Miss Megan Bennet had walked into a door and hit her eye on the door handle.
“So have you been good for Daddy?” Mrs. Bennet asked them after receiving a bundle of cuddles from them all.
“No, not really,” was the honest reply, “And Megan’s got a black eye.”
Six lunch boxes later, various sorting out and clearing away, finding swimming bags, responding to work emails and discovering she had some tight writing deadlines to meet – and that the four legged creatures in the cavity walls were still there - Mrs. Bennet stumbled into bed exhausted and feeling stressed. Her sister had on the other hand gone home to watch a DVD. Somehow, despite the demands of her busy life, Mrs. Bennet knew for the sake of being the best wife, mum, daughter, sister and friend she could be, she had to make time to escape. She had had a taste of freedom and it was a dangerous thing. She wanted more. But she also knew that she needed only to fly a short way away, because the sheer joy of seeing six precious faces beaming at her as she walked through the door, would always entice her to come home despite how noisy and demanding it was.
Friday, 29 January 2010
Sunday, 10 January 2010
A-shaking in the bedroom
January 2010
“No offence, Mr. Bennet, but I can’t sleep here any more. I’m moving out. This bedroom’s getting a bit overcrowded,” Mrs. Bennet announced at the beginning of the year. Not the best start to a new decade to leave the marital bed – even if it did mean a decade of absolutely no more child bearing other-wise-I’m-suing-the-NHS - but her actions were entirely justified. There was too much night-time activity taking place in this particular room and it had nothing to do with them.
It wasn’t long before Mr.Bennet joined her. They hadn’t fallen out with each other. But they had fallen out with certain invisible visitors who had taken camp in bite-size Modern Pemberley’s cavity walls and had the disconcerting habit of scurrying around at the back of their heads at three o’clock in the morning. De-nitting five heads was nothing compared to this. Mrs. Bennet knew her informative friend Mr.Google was always excellent when it came to finding out specialised details, but she never imagined him having to help Mr. Bennet identify droppings found in the loft. Mr. Bennet looked shaken with Mr.Google’s diagnosis. It wasn’t mice. It was something bigger.
“We better camp out in the lounge,” he decided.
“What do we tell the children? That we wanted a sleep over?” asked Mrs. Bennet.
“Just say we fancied a change. Anything, but don’t mention the R word. They’ll never sleep at night,” was his reply.
Mr. Bennet was right of course: ironically confirmed the next evening by the eldest Miss Bennet, who had just happened to be reading The Railway Children.
“I’ve just read the first chapter Mummy!” she declared.
“And…what do you think?”
“It’s great Mummy, until the children have to move to the country and Roberta hears all this noise and she’s told it’s the rats in the cottage walls. That must have been really awful. I didn’t like reading that,” she explained.
Mrs. Bennet choked, trying to stifle a laugh and not quite believing the timeliness of her daughter’s choice of book.
Thankfully the elder children were out of the way when the Rat/Mouse Man paid a visit.
“Expect a lot of activity in the next few days, because they’ll get very excited,” he said. “I think you’ve only got mice by the way,” he added reassuringly, before adding: “but there could be a rat among them.”
Mr. and Mrs. Bennet might not want any more babies in the coming years, but it seemed someone else was getting a little too passionate in their bedroom. And the family behind the walls was growing a little too fast for Mr. and Mrs. Bennet’s liking!
“No offence, Mr. Bennet, but I can’t sleep here any more. I’m moving out. This bedroom’s getting a bit overcrowded,” Mrs. Bennet announced at the beginning of the year. Not the best start to a new decade to leave the marital bed – even if it did mean a decade of absolutely no more child bearing other-wise-I’m-suing-the-NHS - but her actions were entirely justified. There was too much night-time activity taking place in this particular room and it had nothing to do with them.
It wasn’t long before Mr.Bennet joined her. They hadn’t fallen out with each other. But they had fallen out with certain invisible visitors who had taken camp in bite-size Modern Pemberley’s cavity walls and had the disconcerting habit of scurrying around at the back of their heads at three o’clock in the morning. De-nitting five heads was nothing compared to this. Mrs. Bennet knew her informative friend Mr.Google was always excellent when it came to finding out specialised details, but she never imagined him having to help Mr. Bennet identify droppings found in the loft. Mr. Bennet looked shaken with Mr.Google’s diagnosis. It wasn’t mice. It was something bigger.
“We better camp out in the lounge,” he decided.
“What do we tell the children? That we wanted a sleep over?” asked Mrs. Bennet.
“Just say we fancied a change. Anything, but don’t mention the R word. They’ll never sleep at night,” was his reply.
Mr. Bennet was right of course: ironically confirmed the next evening by the eldest Miss Bennet, who had just happened to be reading The Railway Children.
“I’ve just read the first chapter Mummy!” she declared.
“And…what do you think?”
“It’s great Mummy, until the children have to move to the country and Roberta hears all this noise and she’s told it’s the rats in the cottage walls. That must have been really awful. I didn’t like reading that,” she explained.
Mrs. Bennet choked, trying to stifle a laugh and not quite believing the timeliness of her daughter’s choice of book.
Thankfully the elder children were out of the way when the Rat/Mouse Man paid a visit.
“Expect a lot of activity in the next few days, because they’ll get very excited,” he said. “I think you’ve only got mice by the way,” he added reassuringly, before adding: “but there could be a rat among them.”
Mr. and Mrs. Bennet might not want any more babies in the coming years, but it seemed someone else was getting a little too passionate in their bedroom. And the family behind the walls was growing a little too fast for Mr. and Mrs. Bennet’s liking!
Monday, 7 December 2009
Affair over with Mr. Latte
Monday, December 7 ‘09
Mrs. Bennet’s affair with Mr. Latte was officially over. Having moved in permanently – thanks to her 40th birthday money – his position in the corner of the breakfast bar was no longer an exciting place to be. Mr. Latte had been sulking over the past few weeks as Mrs. Bennet hadn’t fancied him. Having been struck by a virus, Mrs. Bennet’s desire for her familiar hot steamy friend had wavered in favour of Mr. Black or hot water (nicknamed Mr. Peely Wally). And in obvious protest, Mr. Latte went off in a froth, blew a fuse and left the house in darkness. Having turned the house upside down in vain to find his guarantee or receipt, Mrs. Bennet realised that moving her treasured coffee companion into bite-sized Modern Pemberley hadn’t resulted in happily ever after. He wasn’t as faithful or reliable as she had hoped.
But Mr. Latte was not the only one letting her down. Both Mrs. Bennet’s Scooby Doo van and Mr. Bennet’s run-a-round vehicle were showing signs of weariness. The driver’s door lock in the latter was broken. Unless it was open, there was no way of getting in unless the driver climbed in through the passenger seat or fell on the mercy of anyone travelling inside to open the door from the inside. As for the Scooby Doo van, as well as having a leaking radiator and a dodgy gear stick, the mechanics in the doors were also suffering from automobile arthritis. So much so in trying to get Spag and Bol, the little Miss Twin Bennets in one afternoon, the only back door of the car – a sliding one at the side – refused to open at all. This meant all five Miss Bennets squeezing into the vehicle by the only route available; mountaineering over Mrs. Bennet’s seat into their respective places, with the two older Miss Bennets pole vaulting yet again into position in the very back. She then had to follow suit to ensure the younger ones were all strapped in correctly.
Life was full of challenges and disappointments. Sometimes you could laugh at them, other times you could not. Mrs. Bennet knew there was no spare cash to repair or replace anything. The house still didn’t have toilet rails, loo roll holders, blinds, curtains and lampshades. These things were on Mrs. Bennet’s wish list, along with her eternity ring, which had lost a stone months ago. She had lost a stone due to viruses and stress and needed that back too. She couldn’t buy that either.
That night as she peered in on her sleeping children, looking peaceful and untroubled, Mrs. Bennet knew they were her most precious gifts in the house. There was always enough love to go around. Faulty doors and a defunct Mr. Latte machine which looked good on the side yet was completely useless were just part of the hiccups of everyday living. Her affair with the hot froth was now over. She warmly accepted a big hug from Mr. Bennet, who promptly handed her a glass of chilled Rose instead.
Mrs. Bennet’s affair with Mr. Latte was officially over. Having moved in permanently – thanks to her 40th birthday money – his position in the corner of the breakfast bar was no longer an exciting place to be. Mr. Latte had been sulking over the past few weeks as Mrs. Bennet hadn’t fancied him. Having been struck by a virus, Mrs. Bennet’s desire for her familiar hot steamy friend had wavered in favour of Mr. Black or hot water (nicknamed Mr. Peely Wally). And in obvious protest, Mr. Latte went off in a froth, blew a fuse and left the house in darkness. Having turned the house upside down in vain to find his guarantee or receipt, Mrs. Bennet realised that moving her treasured coffee companion into bite-sized Modern Pemberley hadn’t resulted in happily ever after. He wasn’t as faithful or reliable as she had hoped.
But Mr. Latte was not the only one letting her down. Both Mrs. Bennet’s Scooby Doo van and Mr. Bennet’s run-a-round vehicle were showing signs of weariness. The driver’s door lock in the latter was broken. Unless it was open, there was no way of getting in unless the driver climbed in through the passenger seat or fell on the mercy of anyone travelling inside to open the door from the inside. As for the Scooby Doo van, as well as having a leaking radiator and a dodgy gear stick, the mechanics in the doors were also suffering from automobile arthritis. So much so in trying to get Spag and Bol, the little Miss Twin Bennets in one afternoon, the only back door of the car – a sliding one at the side – refused to open at all. This meant all five Miss Bennets squeezing into the vehicle by the only route available; mountaineering over Mrs. Bennet’s seat into their respective places, with the two older Miss Bennets pole vaulting yet again into position in the very back. She then had to follow suit to ensure the younger ones were all strapped in correctly.
Life was full of challenges and disappointments. Sometimes you could laugh at them, other times you could not. Mrs. Bennet knew there was no spare cash to repair or replace anything. The house still didn’t have toilet rails, loo roll holders, blinds, curtains and lampshades. These things were on Mrs. Bennet’s wish list, along with her eternity ring, which had lost a stone months ago. She had lost a stone due to viruses and stress and needed that back too. She couldn’t buy that either.
That night as she peered in on her sleeping children, looking peaceful and untroubled, Mrs. Bennet knew they were her most precious gifts in the house. There was always enough love to go around. Faulty doors and a defunct Mr. Latte machine which looked good on the side yet was completely useless were just part of the hiccups of everyday living. Her affair with the hot froth was now over. She warmly accepted a big hug from Mr. Bennet, who promptly handed her a glass of chilled Rose instead.
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Toasted Breast Sandwiches
Friday, November 19 ‘09
Mrs. Bennet couldn’t look at a sandwich toaster in the same way again. As much as she loved a cheese, onion and mayo toastie, she couldn’t quite bring herself to make one. It was too similar to the breast sandwich she’d just experienced at the local screening hospital. Six weeks ago she had had two small assets, which at least moved slightly. Now having suffering a weight-loss battering due to stomach bugs and the stress of her father’s emergency dash to hospital, what remnants she had now could quite easily fall into the category of “gnat bites at the end of an ironing board” – a phrase so eloquently used by one midwife in her explanation that any lady, big or small-chested, was capable of breast feeding her baby or babies. Incidentally a well-endowed mother’s acquisitions were referred to as “trombones.” The gnat bites belonging to Mrs. Bennet certainly weren’t happy today. They were squashed into the mammogram’s jaw, and then tightened with what felt like a screw.
“You wouldn’t believe I fed twins would you?” she nervously joked to the lady who was in control of this chest chewing machine. As unsightly and uncomfortable as she felt, Mrs. Bennet was still grateful to have her breasts toasted. Having appreciated the diligent efforts of the surgeons and breast cancer team to save the life of her own dear mum, Jannie – and her cousin - she could only applaud the services provided. With five little females of her own, it was the responsible thing to do, even if it did mean losing what dignity she had left. It would be 10 years before she officially got the official annual mammogram invite. It certainly gave her a greater understanding of the vulnerability, embarrassment and discomfort of being squashed and squeezed that so many cancer patients felt. In some units, the machine apparently bore an encouraging sticker: “squeezed in love.”
Feeling suitably bruised, Mrs. Bennet put her shocked assets away and took them home. The cheese toaster shone in the light as she walked into the kitchen. Sometimes she treated herself to a crunchy toastie. Today though, she couldn’t face it. Mr. Bennet might fancy a toasted naked breast and mayo, but it definitely wasn’t being offered on this lunch-time’s menu.
Mrs. Bennet couldn’t look at a sandwich toaster in the same way again. As much as she loved a cheese, onion and mayo toastie, she couldn’t quite bring herself to make one. It was too similar to the breast sandwich she’d just experienced at the local screening hospital. Six weeks ago she had had two small assets, which at least moved slightly. Now having suffering a weight-loss battering due to stomach bugs and the stress of her father’s emergency dash to hospital, what remnants she had now could quite easily fall into the category of “gnat bites at the end of an ironing board” – a phrase so eloquently used by one midwife in her explanation that any lady, big or small-chested, was capable of breast feeding her baby or babies. Incidentally a well-endowed mother’s acquisitions were referred to as “trombones.” The gnat bites belonging to Mrs. Bennet certainly weren’t happy today. They were squashed into the mammogram’s jaw, and then tightened with what felt like a screw.
“You wouldn’t believe I fed twins would you?” she nervously joked to the lady who was in control of this chest chewing machine. As unsightly and uncomfortable as she felt, Mrs. Bennet was still grateful to have her breasts toasted. Having appreciated the diligent efforts of the surgeons and breast cancer team to save the life of her own dear mum, Jannie – and her cousin - she could only applaud the services provided. With five little females of her own, it was the responsible thing to do, even if it did mean losing what dignity she had left. It would be 10 years before she officially got the official annual mammogram invite. It certainly gave her a greater understanding of the vulnerability, embarrassment and discomfort of being squashed and squeezed that so many cancer patients felt. In some units, the machine apparently bore an encouraging sticker: “squeezed in love.”
Feeling suitably bruised, Mrs. Bennet put her shocked assets away and took them home. The cheese toaster shone in the light as she walked into the kitchen. Sometimes she treated herself to a crunchy toastie. Today though, she couldn’t face it. Mr. Bennet might fancy a toasted naked breast and mayo, but it definitely wasn’t being offered on this lunch-time’s menu.
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Spag and Bol – the tonic
Wednesday, November 11 ‘09
Now the dolls-on-the-roof had completed their ball-point pen removal therapy, they were back in full working order – being dragged along feet-first and lovingly manhandled by Spag and Bol. Under the lounge spotlights, the baby plastic now looked decidedly blotchy and Mrs. Bennet realised she had slightly overcooked the poor things. But the little Miss Twin Bennets didn’t seem to mind. They shoved Cheerios into the dolls’ mouths regardless and then wondered why they couldn’t get them back out.
Mrs. Bennet was so grateful to Spag and Bol right now. They were proving a real tonic. Their in-built rechargeable batteries never ran out enabling them to clip-clop in clumsy yet beautifully-comical style around the downstairs circle-route in bite-size Modern Pemberley wearing dressing-up high heeled shoes which didn’t match. They had no worries; only giggles and smiles. Mrs. Bennet wondered what age worry set in. How she would love a bottle of care-free childlike innocence at times. All was well in Spag and Bol’s world even if it wasn’t quite as it should be in Mrs. Bennet’s. With Christmas looming, Mrs. Bennet had no desire to buy any presents. Getting to Christmas dinner with every family member in one piece would be the best gift of all. Right now her dad was in hospital, having been rushed in passing out with acute stomach pains. Jannie had bravely fought breast cancer, but was still suffering the aftermaths and had seen enough medics to last a life-time. It certainly hadn’t been the best of years. And yet, despite seeing her dad, happy on morphine, eyes tinged yellow with his unshaven chin dappled with white specs as if he’d been caught dipping it into a packet of icing sugar, Mrs. Bennet felt grateful. Jannie had made it and so too would her dad – with the help of gall-bladder removal and a low-fat diet.
“Donuts don’t have any fat in do they?” he half-hoped, half-joked. It wasn’t good news for a sweet-tooth.
“They’re giving me a list of what I can have,” he informed his wife, still heart-broken that he hadn’t been given any ice-cream or milk for his breakfast cornflakes by the nurses.
“Good, because if they tell you, you might listen,” replied Jannie.
“Have you told them about your allergies?”
“Yes, but they only put down - beer. I think it was the only one they remembered but it made the consultant laugh,” the patient said smiling.
If there was one thing which held her family together it was humour. Watching her parent’s playful banter despite the situation they were in, gave her hope. A man wretched noisily into one of those funny cardboard bedpans in the corner bed; another snorted loudly in his sleep while one poor chap was stuck in the toilet waiting to be wheeled back to his bed. Visitors had sat around talking to an invisible man for 20 minutes wandering where he had gone. It was like watching a scene from Only When I Laugh, a classic early 1980’s comedy series set in the ward of an NHS hospital with an odd trio of male patients. Humour was everywhere if you chose to see it. And Mrs. Bennet had it on tap. She only had to spend a few minutes observing her youngest two daughters to get a free dose.
Now the dolls-on-the-roof had completed their ball-point pen removal therapy, they were back in full working order – being dragged along feet-first and lovingly manhandled by Spag and Bol. Under the lounge spotlights, the baby plastic now looked decidedly blotchy and Mrs. Bennet realised she had slightly overcooked the poor things. But the little Miss Twin Bennets didn’t seem to mind. They shoved Cheerios into the dolls’ mouths regardless and then wondered why they couldn’t get them back out.
Mrs. Bennet was so grateful to Spag and Bol right now. They were proving a real tonic. Their in-built rechargeable batteries never ran out enabling them to clip-clop in clumsy yet beautifully-comical style around the downstairs circle-route in bite-size Modern Pemberley wearing dressing-up high heeled shoes which didn’t match. They had no worries; only giggles and smiles. Mrs. Bennet wondered what age worry set in. How she would love a bottle of care-free childlike innocence at times. All was well in Spag and Bol’s world even if it wasn’t quite as it should be in Mrs. Bennet’s. With Christmas looming, Mrs. Bennet had no desire to buy any presents. Getting to Christmas dinner with every family member in one piece would be the best gift of all. Right now her dad was in hospital, having been rushed in passing out with acute stomach pains. Jannie had bravely fought breast cancer, but was still suffering the aftermaths and had seen enough medics to last a life-time. It certainly hadn’t been the best of years. And yet, despite seeing her dad, happy on morphine, eyes tinged yellow with his unshaven chin dappled with white specs as if he’d been caught dipping it into a packet of icing sugar, Mrs. Bennet felt grateful. Jannie had made it and so too would her dad – with the help of gall-bladder removal and a low-fat diet.
“Donuts don’t have any fat in do they?” he half-hoped, half-joked. It wasn’t good news for a sweet-tooth.
“They’re giving me a list of what I can have,” he informed his wife, still heart-broken that he hadn’t been given any ice-cream or milk for his breakfast cornflakes by the nurses.
“Good, because if they tell you, you might listen,” replied Jannie.
“Have you told them about your allergies?”
“Yes, but they only put down - beer. I think it was the only one they remembered but it made the consultant laugh,” the patient said smiling.
If there was one thing which held her family together it was humour. Watching her parent’s playful banter despite the situation they were in, gave her hope. A man wretched noisily into one of those funny cardboard bedpans in the corner bed; another snorted loudly in his sleep while one poor chap was stuck in the toilet waiting to be wheeled back to his bed. Visitors had sat around talking to an invisible man for 20 minutes wandering where he had gone. It was like watching a scene from Only When I Laugh, a classic early 1980’s comedy series set in the ward of an NHS hospital with an odd trio of male patients. Humour was everywhere if you chose to see it. And Mrs. Bennet had it on tap. She only had to spend a few minutes observing her youngest two daughters to get a free dose.
Friday, 30 October 2009
Mummies never get sick
Friday, October 30 ‘09
There was a book on the playroom shelf called “Mummies never get sick.” It lied because sometimes they did. They just couldn’t take a day off from work to be so. In her nine and a half years as a mother, she had only been bedridden once with flu, up until now. A stomach virus hit her big time, forcing her to crawl on to the sofa in between sudden dashes to the bathroom, which thanks to the completion of Modern Pemberley was now on ground floor level. It lasted 10 days, leaving her with vertigo and very dodgy on her feet. She somehow managed to run a party for eight-year-old Miss Bennet Number Two and her 25 chums thanks to the sterling efforts of Mr. Bennet and his amazing ability to gather the girls in an orderly fashion and get them spitting cola bottles, rolling conkers and eating hula hoops off string. He would make a great party entertainer. Fifteen years ago she fell in love with him while he was riding a unicycle in the midst of a circle of kids in his capacity as a youth leader in charge of a holiday club. It was days like this, when the stuffing had been knocked out of her, she really appreciated her own Mr. Darcy. Not that she had any energy to exert any passion, but it did remind her why she had married him. As the bug co-incided with the entire length of half-term holiday, it meant the little Miss Bennets were home and therefore Modern Pemberley was not quiet. Not that ever was, apart from the two-hour silence Mrs. Bennet enjoyed when Spag and Bol were asleep. Her elder three children had given up their afternoon nap soon after hitting two. At almost two-and-a-half Spag and Bol had no idea their mother wasn’t letting them give up theirs. Happy to lie down in parallel cots, the little Miss Twin Bennets were chatty bedfellows and enjoyed their lunchtime natter before drifting off.
Somehow in between flopping, Mrs. Bennet managed to sit and do beadwork, collage, cakes, play dough, jewellery, painting and maths practise with chocolate buttons. The children didn’t complain. As long as they got out of the house at least once a day, they were happy. And again somehow Mrs. Bennet did, so long as she was back on the sofa within the hour. It had become her new friend. Mr. Latte – who had moved in ever since Mrs. Bennet had bought a life-line sophisticated coffee machine with her 40th birthday money – had to sit quietly forgotten in the corner. She had no desire for him, or anything other than a mug of hot water, nicknamed Mr. Peely Wally in the Modern Mrs. Bennet dictionary.
But she did feel well-off. Ironically it was an enriching experience to be ill. Mrs. Bennet had realised what she had and it was good. She may not always have enough money to pay for their clubs and shoes, but where coffers lacked, the blessings around her more than compensated. Watching Spag and Bol chasing each other from lounge to kitchen to playroom to lounge dressed in fairy dresses and winter hats which were far too big from them, giggling profusely as they did, cheered her no end. Sometimes Mummies did get sick. But they were never lonely.
There was a book on the playroom shelf called “Mummies never get sick.” It lied because sometimes they did. They just couldn’t take a day off from work to be so. In her nine and a half years as a mother, she had only been bedridden once with flu, up until now. A stomach virus hit her big time, forcing her to crawl on to the sofa in between sudden dashes to the bathroom, which thanks to the completion of Modern Pemberley was now on ground floor level. It lasted 10 days, leaving her with vertigo and very dodgy on her feet. She somehow managed to run a party for eight-year-old Miss Bennet Number Two and her 25 chums thanks to the sterling efforts of Mr. Bennet and his amazing ability to gather the girls in an orderly fashion and get them spitting cola bottles, rolling conkers and eating hula hoops off string. He would make a great party entertainer. Fifteen years ago she fell in love with him while he was riding a unicycle in the midst of a circle of kids in his capacity as a youth leader in charge of a holiday club. It was days like this, when the stuffing had been knocked out of her, she really appreciated her own Mr. Darcy. Not that she had any energy to exert any passion, but it did remind her why she had married him. As the bug co-incided with the entire length of half-term holiday, it meant the little Miss Bennets were home and therefore Modern Pemberley was not quiet. Not that ever was, apart from the two-hour silence Mrs. Bennet enjoyed when Spag and Bol were asleep. Her elder three children had given up their afternoon nap soon after hitting two. At almost two-and-a-half Spag and Bol had no idea their mother wasn’t letting them give up theirs. Happy to lie down in parallel cots, the little Miss Twin Bennets were chatty bedfellows and enjoyed their lunchtime natter before drifting off.
Somehow in between flopping, Mrs. Bennet managed to sit and do beadwork, collage, cakes, play dough, jewellery, painting and maths practise with chocolate buttons. The children didn’t complain. As long as they got out of the house at least once a day, they were happy. And again somehow Mrs. Bennet did, so long as she was back on the sofa within the hour. It had become her new friend. Mr. Latte – who had moved in ever since Mrs. Bennet had bought a life-line sophisticated coffee machine with her 40th birthday money – had to sit quietly forgotten in the corner. She had no desire for him, or anything other than a mug of hot water, nicknamed Mr. Peely Wally in the Modern Mrs. Bennet dictionary.
But she did feel well-off. Ironically it was an enriching experience to be ill. Mrs. Bennet had realised what she had and it was good. She may not always have enough money to pay for their clubs and shoes, but where coffers lacked, the blessings around her more than compensated. Watching Spag and Bol chasing each other from lounge to kitchen to playroom to lounge dressed in fairy dresses and winter hats which were far too big from them, giggling profusely as they did, cheered her no end. Sometimes Mummies did get sick. But they were never lonely.
Saturday, 10 October 2009
Up on a roof
Saturday, October 10 '09
"It's sunny, so please put dolls out," read the text. Mrs. Bennet was currently marching the three oldest Miss Bennets down the hill towards the cinema, leaving Mr. Bennet with the mischievous Spag and Bol and a half-constructed IKEA wardrobe to build. She had temporarily lifted the DIY curfew as Jannie, Mrs. Bennet's lovely mum had arranged for the King of Bodge, Mr. Jannie to be at hand to help. Whether it was safe to leave her husband and her Father banging away with two little girls free to roam at will, was a risk Mrs. Bennet decided to take. At least with the sun in full beam, there was a chance that the acne-creamed baby dolls could get their much-needed face lifts. Mr. Bennet was sceptical. He didn't believe such drastic treatment would work. Mrs. Bennet was more optimistic. She returned at lunch-time to find the two plastic victims sunbathing on the shed roof. Thankfully the older Miss Bennets didn't notice until later that afternoon. By then the sun had done wonders to the doll's grafitti skin and she was able to explain why they were where they were and that their parents hadn't gone completely mad.
Mrs. Bennet was impressed. One of the dolls, although now having slightly darker skin pigment in places, was essentially Biro-free. Her companion still wore some of her wounds and needed to revisit the plastic surgeon in the morning and be turned over to catch the sunlight, if there was any. But at least Spag and Bol had been given a reprieve. Their older siblings weren't cross with them or their mother for letting them loose in the first place. Acne cream mixed with sunlight had done the trick, certainly for one doll, who was returned to her owner. The other returned to the hospital shed for a rest, ready for a further installment. Mrs. Bennet did now worry for her own daughters should they ever need acne cream. She certainly wouldn't be putting them on a shed roof for a sun-bathing session. If the cream reacted with the sun's rays in this way and did Biro-removing wonders for plastic skin, what would it do to real skin? Having said that, Mrs. Bennet thought it could be a good way of removing age spots. She quite fancied a five hour kip in the sun - although perferably not high up on a shed roof!
"It's sunny, so please put dolls out," read the text. Mrs. Bennet was currently marching the three oldest Miss Bennets down the hill towards the cinema, leaving Mr. Bennet with the mischievous Spag and Bol and a half-constructed IKEA wardrobe to build. She had temporarily lifted the DIY curfew as Jannie, Mrs. Bennet's lovely mum had arranged for the King of Bodge, Mr. Jannie to be at hand to help. Whether it was safe to leave her husband and her Father banging away with two little girls free to roam at will, was a risk Mrs. Bennet decided to take. At least with the sun in full beam, there was a chance that the acne-creamed baby dolls could get their much-needed face lifts. Mr. Bennet was sceptical. He didn't believe such drastic treatment would work. Mrs. Bennet was more optimistic. She returned at lunch-time to find the two plastic victims sunbathing on the shed roof. Thankfully the older Miss Bennets didn't notice until later that afternoon. By then the sun had done wonders to the doll's grafitti skin and she was able to explain why they were where they were and that their parents hadn't gone completely mad.
Mrs. Bennet was impressed. One of the dolls, although now having slightly darker skin pigment in places, was essentially Biro-free. Her companion still wore some of her wounds and needed to revisit the plastic surgeon in the morning and be turned over to catch the sunlight, if there was any. But at least Spag and Bol had been given a reprieve. Their older siblings weren't cross with them or their mother for letting them loose in the first place. Acne cream mixed with sunlight had done the trick, certainly for one doll, who was returned to her owner. The other returned to the hospital shed for a rest, ready for a further installment. Mrs. Bennet did now worry for her own daughters should they ever need acne cream. She certainly wouldn't be putting them on a shed roof for a sun-bathing session. If the cream reacted with the sun's rays in this way and did Biro-removing wonders for plastic skin, what would it do to real skin? Having said that, Mrs. Bennet thought it could be a good way of removing age spots. She quite fancied a five hour kip in the sun - although perferably not high up on a shed roof!
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