The One Where The Munchkins Were Fed

Pretty much every time Mother of Munchkins is heading out the door and leaving me in charge, she turns around and says, ‘Don’t forget to feed the children!’

In my defence, that only happened once. And if they didn’t come up to me saying that they want to eat, can I really be blamed? As Munchkin 1 has been known to say ‘I’m just building their survival instincts so they will learn to forage for food themselves’.

So when Father and Mother of Munchkins went away for two days and left… you guessed it… moi in charge, I made sure I feed them. They were force fed pasta, salad was shoved down their gullet and don’t even think of not finishing your soup bucko, or I will IV it into you if I have to.

Feeding was covered.

Then we heard that there was a severe weather warning and the biggest storm of the year was about to happen with gale force winds. Out! I commanded the troops. Batten down the hatches! Bring in wood! Tie down anything that moves! We must prepare!!! We prepared all right, prepared enough for the apocalypse…. and nothing happened. Oh, there was a bit of rain, but I’m not sure what happened to the biggest storm of the year, maybe the pressure got too much for it. You know, being talked about on all the weather stations would make anyone nervous and maybe it decided that it needed more time to regroup, get bigger, to become The Biggest Storm Of The Year! complete with capitals. I don’t know where the storm went. But it ever so kindly rained just enough that ALL FIVE MUNCHKINS WERE STUCK INSIDE THE HOUSE. And anyone who has kids knows that that is a really bad happening especially when three of the five are boys. Cue the chaos.

Finally, it was bed time. Silence. Gentle sigh of relief. Drifting off to sleep…. until 3:30am, when Munchkin 8 needed to go to the toilet. Loudly. Lurching out of bed, stumbling into his room, blindly groping for the child on the bed, squinting against the oh so bright toilet light, we got thereΒ just in the nick of time.

And right ever emptying his bladder from the bottle he had when he went to sleep, he wantedΒ another bottle to help him go back to sleep. So off down the extremely long hallway we went, me clutching Munchkin 8 tight and making sure that all limbs, including the head, were contained and not flopping around. I have learnt the hard way that walking down the hallway in the middle of the night is vastly different that walking the same hallway during the day. Or rather I should say that Munchkin 8 learnt the hard way, considering it was his head that hit the doorframe.

But that’s another story.

Maybe Munchkin 8 heard Mother tell me to feed the kids and thought that I really needed the help, so in his adorable 3 year old way he started telling me how to make the bottle. Boil the water, how much milk to put in, showed me how to shake it. He was so cute about it that I didn’t remind him that I had been making him bottles pretty much his whole life. His squishiness when he thanked me ever so politely for his ‘bobble’ nearly made up for the fact that I was awake at 3:38am.

But not completely.

By the end of the next rain drenched day I was ecstatic when Father and Mother of Munchkins arrived home.Β  The hand over of power and responsibility was a sweet, sweet relief. I won’t be asking Mother dearest to be evaluating how well I cared for her Munchkins and home because I think our versions of house keeping might differ slightly… All in all, I think I did alright. The house may not have been the cleanest, and I hadn’t finished all the laundry, but hey! The kids were alive!

And I even remembered to feed them πŸ˜‰

 

 

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6 thoughts on “The One Where The Munchkins Were Fed

  1. Lol! The joy of being the eldest left at home πŸ™‚ Glad to hear that the storm was nothing much. Fantastic and well written story!

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    1. Yeah, built in babysitter… I’m just considering it training for when I have kids, maybe I will have mastered the art of carrying the baby down the hallway at midnight without mishap by then πŸ˜‰

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  2. Can you imagine what it’ll be like when we have our own kids and we have to remember to feed them… Every. Single. Day.

    I can’t even keep pot plants alive,
    not even wedding gifts (don’t tell Susie).

    Like

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