Chicken noodle soup, homemade bread, and a tantrum

I got home at 6pm today (did I mention I work full-time?) having gone to Morrisons with my son to get parsley for our soup (I forgot to get it on my lunch break as I got distracted by a charity shop, some size 15 knitting needles, and a bunch of fab retro knitting patterns). We also managed to acquire a Monsters Inc. magazine, a packet of Boost bars, and funny looks from a woman as we perched our parsley on the promotional stack of loo roll by the entrance and climbed over the security barrier because M needed the toilet as we were looking at the magazines.

So… yeah… soup. Remember the chicken stock I made a couple of days ago? Well today I used it, I added some chopped onion, fried until brown/see through, carrot and celery chopped up small, the parsley, extra water salt and pepper, and the three nests of tagliatelle that have been sat in our cupboard for about a year and are the reason I was making the soup in the first place (I crushed them up a bit before I threw them in). Then for the chicken: you’d think what with my fantastic adventure with cutting up chicken the other day that I would have used some of that? Well… no. Actually I nabbed leftovers from the roast chicken we had at my mum’s yesterday and threw them in. Then I reheated the bread I made yesterday (I will post the recipe another day – it didn’t turn out great but was ok for a first attempt and was lovely with the soup) and that was dinner.

My husband liked it (with added salt). I liked it (as much as I like any soup). My 3-year-old (M) ate the bread. With chocolate spread on it. After his second lot of chocolate spread on one slice of bread (i.e. when we realized he was just licking the chocolate spread off the bread) we said he couldn’t have any more unless he tried either the chicken or the noodles (we’re not mean, we know it would be too much for him to try both…) He refused. He said he had wanted his dinner on a plate. I said it was soup and soup does not go on plates. My husband put a few noodles on a plate anyway. M said that he didn’t want his noodles wet. So I gave up (but didn’t give in to the chocolate spread tantrum) and went to run his bath. Cue M following me still whining about the chocolate spread. I told him if he was still hungry after his bath he could have some Cheerios or porridge, but not chocolate spread as he didn’t try his soup. He said something about “wet noodles” again, which I ignored.

The bath run, I attempted to undress my recalcitrant pre-schooler (I almost said toddler but I guess he is officially in pre-school now and as he tells me, he’s half-small but not really small). Cue rolling on the floor in a lack-of-chocolate-spread-induced rage. Cue my (stupidly) saying that I was going to count to three and if he did not take his clothes off for the bath I would put him in the bath with his clothes on. And… repeat said threat while holding him over the bath and pretending to put him in bath as really didn’t want to put him in the bath with clothes on, until finally, because I didn’t want to be “that” parent who doesn’t follow through with threats and whose child never listens to a word she says, I put him in the bath with his clothes on. Cue even more pandemonium until we finally have a very tired and very cross little boy to coax into bed.

I cuddled him, I managed to get pajamas on him (though he screamed about wanting “PJs” not pajamas and my head nearly exploded…) and finally ended the tantrum by pointing out that daddy and I were not going to give in to a tantrum about chocolate spread and when had he ever got what he wanted by screaming and shouting? And by suggesting that next time he was given a choice to try his noodles or chicken and have chocolate spread, or not try them and go without chocolate spread, maybe he would choose to try them, even if they were wet.

So, after that eventful evening, with M tucked up asleep in bed with his “snugglies” (elephant and rabbit), I sit down to taste my craft beer of the evening. This one tastes ok too. I think the trick is to just sip and savour the flavor rather than gulp it down like I do with lager. This one is Krombacher Dark: “the full-flavoured beer with a fine and malty taste.” It does taste malty, so does what it says on the tin. Also, like all beer, it takes the edge off a toddler (sorry pre-schooler) meltdown. Cheers.

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