After a long day that included three meetings and more driving than I want to admit to, I was relieved tonight’s dinner was simple. I removed the spatchcocked chicken from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. I walked over to the fridge, opened the left door, and removed the cauliflower rice from the produce drawer. All I needed was a frying pan, olive oil, salt, and pepper, and I’d have dinner on the table in less than 15 minutes.
Best laid plans.
“I want some jelly!” Ari declared as he removed both squeeze bottles of grape jelly from the fridge. (Don’t ask me why we have two almost-empty bottles of grape jelly. That’s a mystery I’ll solve tomorrow.)
“We’re having chicken and cauliflower rice for dinner,” I reminded him.
He was unconvinced. “I want some jelly!” With his second declaration, he scuttled across the kitchen with both bottles of grape jelly, slammed them down on the kitchen table, and said, “I want some jelly!”
Aren’t you good at being two? I thought.
“I’ve made chicken and cauliflower rice tonight. It’s time to put the jelly back in the fridge.”
“I want some jelly!” he said forcefully enough to make me check the jelly-bottle caps to make sure they were on tightly.
“You can have peanut butter and jelly for lunch tomorrow. Tonight we’re eating chicken and cauliflower rice.”
I handed Ari the bottles of jelly and ushered him back to the fridge. I opened the left door and said, “Put it back in the refrigerator, please.”
He counted, “One! Two!” as he placed the jellies back onto the shelf.
I helped Ari closed the refrigerator door. I hoped he would forget about the jelly and just eat a good dinner. Thankfully, he’s a good little eater. He ran from the fridge to his booster seat, clipped himself in, smiled proudly, and said, “I want chicken now.”
We’ll work on manners tomorrow.