It’s Always Chicken

Soapfi likes knowing the names of things, sometimes to an alarming degree of specificity. She is delighted to point and call out “truck, car, bus, bike, moto (motorcycle)” whenever appropriate. She is learning her musical instruments and is starting to differentiate between a saxophone and a trumpet, a guitar and a violin. She most definitely knows the difference between a live chicken and a live duck, and will cluck or quack appropriately.

I say live, because once an animal becomes food, in Soapfi’s world, it’s all chicken.

We sat down to dinner last night, a wonderful platter of short ribs and some noodles with veggies. The exchange when something like this:

Soapfi: “Chicken!” (Mommy mistakenly thinks she is asking for something else for dinner.)

Mommy: “We aren’t having chicken. You can have some of these short ribs.”

Soapfi: “No, Mommy.”  (Mommy mistakenly thinks she is saying no to the short ribs.)

Mommy: “Would you like the noodles then?”

Soapfi: “CHICKEN!”  (Accompanied by a lunge and a death grip on a piece of short rib.)

Small interlude while Mommy extracts short rib, cuts it into Soapfi friendly pieces and removes the bones, and returns the rib meat. The soundtrack to this interlude would be Soapfi crying “more chicken” and sniffling when she wasn’t allowed to play with the knife.

Mommy: “This isn’t chicken, it’s beef.”

Soapfi: (With obvious exasperation) “No, Mommy, chicken.”

No wonder she has been so good about trying new things, she thinks it is chicken. I plan to take full advantage of this for as long as possible.

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