Two and a Half - Day 11

It was a dark and stormy night.  Which gave way to a dark and stormy day.  Which made me want to cook something hearty, delicious, and warming in a single pot.  Though the day brightened up and dried out, it was still a one-pot meal kind of night.  Little Eater was feeling a little under the weather in addition to being extra super specially two and a half.  He was so two and a half that the Spendivore Stroll took an hour to buy the three things I needed for arroz con pollo (chicken, rice, and olives) since it became absolutely essential to him to assert his independence with every step.  Main Street was treated to such toddler gems as lying down in the middle of the sidewalk and pretending to nap after telling me to, "Go away, I'll be right here resting."  And, attempting to engage strangers in games of stick ball by stopping suddenly in front of them, pulling his hat over his face, screaming, "I'm wearing a face mask," and swinging a stick about wildly.  It's a good thing he's cute.  I confiscated the stick and told him he could have it back when we got home thinking it might motivate him pick up the pace a little.  But no.  Somehow, it convinced him that he was, in fact, a chicken.  And the rest of the walk went something like this:

Me: Come on, sweetheart, we're almost to the butcher and then only one stop after that.
Little Eater: I'm chicken.
Me: Ok, you're a chicken.  Let's go.
Little Eater: (stopping entirely to peck his beak on the ground) cluck, cluck
Me: (grasping Little Eater firmly by the wing) Now, chicken.  March!
Little Eater: cluck, cluck, cluckcluckcluckcluckcluckcluckCLUCK!

And as such, we arrived at the butcher where Little Eater responded to being greeted with a genuinely warm, "Hey little buddy, how you doing today?" with an indignant "I'm CHICKEN!" and set about clucking and pecking the case of rolls.  I took a perverse pleasure in purchasing several pounds of chicken thighs while I was there and mused momentarily on which of my chickens I felt more inclined to cook for dinner. We made it home without much in the way of incident though Little Eater would communicate with me only in clucks and requests to have his stick returned.  He returned briefly to boyhood after we got home as he noticed the olives coming out of the shopping bag.  10 or so olives later, he was back outside in the yard, pecking, clucking, and sticking and I was putting together our meal.  All seemed fine with the world.  And then, shortly after tucking Little Eater into bed and having served up hot, comforting, chicken-y bowls of arroz con pollo, Little Eater woke up and began to cry.  In his final, dramatic act of two and a half for the day he promptly ralphed his dinner and what seemed to be way more than 10 olives down the front of Dad Eater and Me.

Little Eater: Moooooooooommmmyyyyy.  I burped.
Me: I see that, sweetheart.  We'll get you all cleaned up and comfy, cozy again.
Little Eater: cluck, cluck.

Fortunately, arroz con pollo is just as good cold as it is hot.  I used this recipe from Martha Stewart.

Simmering, chicken-y, rice-y
olive-y goodness.