Todays creative cooking? Butter chicken, with a twist.
I cubed some chicken and pretty much cooked it through in some canola oil. Then I added some President’s Choice Butter Chicken Sauce, a sliced green bell pepper, and one finely cubed potato and yam, each. I mixed that about with around three-quarters of a cup of milk, then simmered it, covered on medium for around a halfer.
Serve solo in a Dora bowl, with half of a cheese bagel and you’ve got veggies, meat, grains knocked out of the park. Add a glass of milk, you’re totally rocking the food guide.
It was amazing. Succulent. I’m looking forward to the leftovers. A lot.
Where we lost the awesome was when Isobel decided to examine the sauce veryveryvery closely. And got some in her eye. Which led to subsequent double-fisted eye rubbing. With fists covered in more sauce. What’d that lead to?
Me trying to wipe off her eyes with a cloth while holding down her hands and then wipe off her hands before she could get them back to her eyes again. She was bucking and screaming in such a way as to indicate colic at 18 months. There were tears (hers), bruises (mine) and it just was not working out.
So, Isobel had her first of what I’ll expect to be many eye washes last night. She went in the tub clothed and yelled at me for repeatedly dousing her face with water. Between sputtering from inhaling the water. While hitting me because I was holding her in one place – if there’s anything Isobel’s taught me is the golden rule, it’s “You. Do Not. Control. Me.”
Then, anger over her clothes being wet and like, on her. And chicken in the bathtub, cuz really, that was the most wrong part of it all.
Two minutes later, I have a naked little crazy woman running about, talking about Santa (still?!) and spinning in circles while singing her three-letter version of the alphabet.
This is why I think it’s safe to assume there’ll be a repeat incident at least 40 more times – kid moves on and forgets too freaking well. Geez Isobel, thanks for being so damn well adjusted. Can you please be scarred by something so you actually stop trying to kill yourself via Jackass techniques before you turn five years old?
