By Emma turned ten. The sleepover was Saturday night: eight girls, three pizzas (homemade, because I refuse to order pizza when I can make it better and cheaper and with more cheese), a movie, a pillow fight that rattled the walls, and a level of shrieking that registered on Jack's soil thermometer from the backyard. Kevin and Noah retreated to the garage at seven PM and didn't emerge until Sunday morning. Jack put on his noise-canceling headphones (Kevin's) and continued his garden journal by flashlight. This family adapts to chaos through strategic withdrawal.
The birthday dinner was Thursday — Emma's actual birthday. She wanted tacos, which surprised no one because Taco Tuesday is the foundation of this household's nutritional infrastructure and Emma extending it to Thursday is an act of devotion, not rebellion. I made tacos with all the extras: ground beef with Old El Paso seasoning, shredded cheese, diced tomatoes, sour cream, guacamole (the one fancy addition I make, and only because avocados were on sale), and lettuce. Emma ate hers deconstructed, as always. The girl is consistent.
The cake was yellow with chocolate frosting, eight candles plus two for good measure because we've always done ten candles on the tenth birthday in the Holloway house, which means when Noah turns ten he'll have ten candles and when Jack turns ten he'll have ten candles and by the time we're done, the fire department will be on speed dial. Emma made a wish. I don't know what it was. I hope it was the horse. She deserves to keep wishing for the horse.
I sat with her after the party, when the girls were asleep in the living room and the house was finally quiet. She was buzzing with the residual energy of ten-year-old joy, and she said, "Mom, am I different now?" I said, "Different how?" She said, "I'm in double digits. Am I supposed to feel different?" I said, "No. You're supposed to feel like yourself, just with a bigger number." She said, "I feel the same." I said, "Good. The same is good." She hugged me. She smelled like frosting and popcorn and shampoo. She's ten. She's exactly who she's supposed to be.
When your daughter requests tacos for her tenth birthday dinner — on a Thursday, no less — you don’t argue with that kind of loyalty. These rotisserie chicken tacos are my shortcut version for nights when I’ve already spent the weekend rolling out three homemade pizzas and frosting a yellow cake: grab a rotisserie chicken, shred it up, load the toppings, and let everyone build their own. Emma would approve, deconstructed or not.
Easy Rotisserie Chicken Tacos
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 1 rotisserie chicken, shredded (about 4 cups)
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 packet taco seasoning
- 1/3 cup water
- 12 small flour or corn tortillas, warmed
- 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
- 1 cup diced tomatoes
- 1/2 cup sour cream
- 1 cup shredded lettuce
- 1 avocado, mashed with a pinch of salt for quick guacamole
- Lime wedges, for serving
- Hot sauce, optional
Instructions
- Shred the chicken. Remove skin and bones from the rotisserie chicken and shred the meat into bite-sized pieces using two forks.
- Season the chicken. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the shredded chicken, taco seasoning, and water. Stir to combine and cook for 5–7 minutes until the liquid is absorbed and the chicken is heated through.
- Warm the tortillas. Wrap tortillas in a damp paper towel and microwave for 30–45 seconds, or warm them directly over a gas flame for a few seconds per side until lightly charred.
- Set up your toppings. Arrange shredded cheese, diced tomatoes, sour cream, lettuce, and guacamole in bowls so everyone can build their own tacos.
- Assemble and serve. Spoon seasoned chicken into warmed tortillas and pile on the toppings. Squeeze a lime wedge over the top and serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 380 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 26g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 680mg