Restless

She was a hurricane, a whirlwind of a human being.

It was her day off. For most people, that usually meant a day of rest, but not Mary Poppins. There were simply too many tasks that needed to be completed, ones she could not do with the children around. Her own personal shopping, visiting family and friends, spending time on her hobbies and interests. But today, she was helping Uncle Alfred.

She scrubbed the floors, repainted the spare room, and washed the curtains. Interrupted shortly after by Bert. He greeted her with a kiss, suggesting that they spend the rest of the day doing something spontaneous.

"I can't," she sighed. "I still have a few chores that need doing."

"I can help," he offered.

Mary agreed, thankful for the assistance.

Yet, even as he tried his hardest to keep up, she hurried around him.

Whilst he was cleaned the dishes, she had brushed and scrubbed the front step, sewed the tear in the armpit of Uncle Alfred's shirt, and dusted away the cobwebs in the top corner of the ceiling.

Bert couldn't understand how she was so fast. He had insisted she slow down, take a rest, but she had said it was fine.

He knew better than to think she would listen. Mary would do what she wanted. But he made sure to treat her when she settled down for the evening.

Whilst she nestled into a chair, prepared to pursue her favourite poetry book, he took the liberty of massaging her shoulders. If he told her to relax, she would simply refuse, so he decided to trick her. By then offering to massage her feet. If she was being pampered, he supposed there was no reason for her to start another chore. Uncle Alfred and his dusty grate would simply have to wait. Mary Poppins would rest. Even if it meant he had to engage in a great deal of trickery.