“The first time we took Samantha to Chick-fil-A, she was a toddler, and she wanted nothing to do with any of the food. Or the playland. She just grumped until we stopped trying to strap her into a high chair and just let her wriggle on our laps and make it impossible for us to eat.

I don’t remember what I ordered that day, but I do remember pointing out to Samantha all the calm toddlers eating happily in high chairs. There were at least… well… one or two. We also looked at the pictures of the “moo, ow” (aka cows) on the walls.

In all fairness, neither the lack of ability to sit still, nor the disinterest in food, nor the disinterest in the playland had anything to do with Chick-fil-A itself. It was not like we had any success at McDonald’s, either. Or at home.

Or anywhere.

At age 1 and age 2, that kid liked milk and nothing but milk.

There was a brief period of time when she would condescend to eat a banana or a feta spinach wrap from Starbucks. And another brief streak when she ate peas and cottage cheese three times a day, but once she’d had her fill of those, all food was equally … how shall I say it?… beneath her dignity to eat.

She had no patience for actual food.

I would try to distract her, so I could spoon food into her mouth. She was way too smart for the airplane on the spoon trick, but she would sometimes let me read a book. I told her I couldn’t turn the page till she took a bite.

It was all, “Take a bite, and let’s see what’s on the next page,” all the time.

By the time she was 4, it was just, “Sam, take a bite,” every time I paused between my own bites. I became known as “Take-a-bite Mom” instead of, you know, just Mom.

I will never forget the first meal we got through when she ate all her food and did not have to be reminded to take a bite.

She was six years old.

I wrote down the milestone in her baby book. “Today Sam ate.” Like it was a miracle. And it was.

So around that time, we tried Chick-fil-A again. And she loved it. She gobbled down the chicken nuggets and fries kid’s meal and played in the playground. The playground was fine as long as other kids did not bother her–or if they did, they had to be willing to play dog with her.

“How about pony?” a four-year old asked her one day.

“No. I dog. You be pony. I dog.”

And then she proceeded to ignore the preschooler and play dog by herself, running around the play structure on all fours and barking at anyone who dared get too close.

The pandemic, of course, put an end to our days of playing at Chick-fil-A, but by then we had already enjoyed a couple of really good years of getting our exercise for the day from the Chick-fil-A playland (or rather, the kids did. I wasn’t doing much exercise, just downing my lemonade and market salad in between helping my two small children with things like spills and lids and removing shoes for the play area).

Samantha is twelve now. We don’t do the playland any more. Now we do the drive-thru and order the 12-piece grilled nuggets with fries. And she will sometimes also sneak a few extra nuggets from her sister’s meal.

I imagine many more memories will be made at Chick-fil-A in the future. Maybe someday Samantha and I will be there with her babies in the playland, watching them play dogs and ponies.