Simple Recipe That Reminds Me Why I Love Being a Mom
The summer before my youngest turned five, we had what I now think of as our golden kitchen summer. It was sticky with watermelon juice and filled with laughter, cries of “Mama, look!” and the clatter of mismatched Tupperware doubling as castle walls. That was the summer my three kids insisted on eating at the little round table in the kitchen rather than the dining room, because they said it felt more like a picnic. And during that season of barefoot chaos, one meal became the heartbeat of our home: chicken and rice soup.
It wasn’t planned. It just happened. One afternoon, my middle child came down with a cold and asked for “something warm and soft.” I pulled together what I had—chicken thighs, leftover rice, carrots, celery—and simmered it all into a broth so fragrant, even the picky toddler poked his head in asking, “Can I have that smell?”
That pot of soup didn’t just feed us. It became a ritual. A hug in a bowl. We started having it on rainy days, or when one of the kids was grumpy, or when we needed to slow down and come back to center. And every time I stirred that pot, I felt more like a mother—not just the scheduler or the chauffeur—but the one who could make it all feel okay again with a wooden spoon and a simmering pot.
Why This Soup Means So Much
The world can feel like too much sometimes. Between work emails, homework folders, and the constant whirl of daily life, I often feel pulled in five directions at once. But the act of making this soup always brings me back to myself. It’s soothing, methodical, and forgiving. There’s no pressure to get it perfect. It’s a dish that invites you to show up just as you are.
For me, this meal has come to symbolize home. It carries the scent of patience and the warmth of little hands wrapped around a bowl. It reminds me that being a mom isn’t always about big moments—it’s about the quiet, repetitive ones that build a life.
The Simple Recipe That Anchors Us
This is the recipe I go back to time and time again. It’s flexible, hearty, and full of comfort.
Ingredients:
- 1 tbsp olive oil
- 1 small onion, finely chopped
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 carrots, diced
- 2 celery stalks, diced
- 1 lb boneless, skinless chicken thighs or breasts
- 6 cups chicken broth
- 1 bay leaf
- Salt and pepper, to taste
- 1 cup cooked white or brown rice (or use leftover rice!)
- Chopped parsley or dill for garnish (optional)
Instructions:
Step 1: Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat.
Step 2: Add the onion, garlic, carrots, and celery. Sauté until softened (about 5-7 minutes).
Step 3: Add the chicken and broth. Drop in the bay leaf.
Step 4: Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 25-30 minutes, until the chicken is cooked through.
Step 5: Remove the chicken, shred it with two forks, and return it to the pot.
Step 6: Stir in the rice and simmer for another 5 minutes.
Step 7: Season with salt and pepper. Sprinkle with fresh herbs if you like.
Small Tips That Make a Big Difference
Always taste the broth before serving. Sometimes it just needs a tiny splash of lemon juice or a pinch more salt to sing.
Leftover rotisserie chicken works beautifully in a pinch.
If someone in your house is fighting a cold, a little grated ginger and a splash of soy sauce adds a comforting twist.
For picky eaters, I dice the veggies extra small and mash a few pieces into the broth—they’ll never notice.
Stories From My Table
I’ll never forget the day my eldest came home from school, dumped his backpack, and said, “Is it a soup night? I had a rough one.” That’s when I realized this dish was more than just food. It was language. It was how my children asked for comfort and connection. And how I offered it.
Or the time my husband came home after a long week and just sat quietly at the table, inhaling the steam from his bowl, shoulders slowly dropping as the warmth worked its way in. Meals like this do more than feed—they heal. They say, “You’re home. You’re safe. You’re loved.”
Why This Meal Matters
It’s easy to get lost in the pressure to do more, be more, cook fancier. But sometimes, the dishes that stick with us aren’t the ones that took hours or won awards. They’re the ones that showed up when we needed them most.
This chicken and rice soup is my reminder that I don’t have to be everything to everyone. I just need to show up, stir the pot, and trust that the warmth I’m pouring into the bowl is enough.
Final Thoughts
Motherhood is made of thousands of small choices. Some are loud, like deciding to move cities or change jobs. But most are quiet. Like choosing to simmer soup instead of reheat a frozen dinner. Like sitting down and eating together, no screens, no rush. Just spoons clinking and stories being shared.
Every time I make this meal, I feel a little steadier. A little more grounded in this beautiful, chaotic life of ours. And maybe, just maybe, the kids will remember these meals one day when they’re grown. Maybe they’ll stir their own pots, in their own kitchens, and feel the same kind of love.
