Nap Time in Naptown: Mom’s Valet at Chick-fil-A at The Crossing

I can tell you the first Chick-fil-A I ate at because one opened up in The Atrium at Ball State University and everyone was freaking out in excitement and I didn’t understand why.

Growing up as a vegetarian will make you ignorant of all things meat.

But I learned quickly to love their waffle fries. Then I started dating Joe and a short time later, I fell in love with him and bacon and became a full-fledged carnivore.

Fast-forward 10 years and I still love Chick-fil-A because a) of everything on the menu and b) I have two small kids.

I don’t think I need to wax poetic about all the menu items (mini chicken biscuits! sweet tea! spicy chicken sandwich!) or why it’s is awesome for kids (playgrounds! placemats! books!). I think you probably already get it and love it and frequent it just like me.

But after today, I have yet another reason to go every day but Sunday to my favorite Indy location, Chick-fil-A at The Crossing. (As the great non-WillFerrell so wisely once tweeted, “It is a scientific fact that the human body craves Chick-fil-A even more on Sunday.” Oh preach it, Fake Will.)

My Chick-fil-A, which I generously share with others, started a Mom’s Valet program yesterday. It's a new way to dine fast food and I wonder if I’ll ever be the same.

Here’s the breakdown: place your order through the drive-through (and tell them everything you will need: condiments, number of chairs, high chairs, etc), park the sweet minivan, and by the time you wrangle your herd into the restaurant, you will find a table with your name and your order sitting RIGHT THERE ON A TABLE.

Shut the front door, Dorothy. You’re not in Kansas anymore.

I’m pretty sure this is the exact same set-up when manna rained down from the heavens.

No more first-world problem of waiting in line, then snagging a table, only to leave said table full of kids with Flubber on their soles, then speed walk back up to the counter to pick up your order. On 82 Street, your food will just magically appear.

Oh, Chick-fil-A. You had me at “hello, waffle fries” but now you just keep on reeling me in by the belt loop of my mom jeans.

I love you.

I’d drive a cow-spotted minivan for you.

Forever and always, KJM + CFA.

XOXOXOXO

Disclosure: In no way was I paid, stuffed with waffle fries or compensated in any way to write this. They have no idea who I am other than the lady with the screaming baby and girl who preferred bare feet today. We just went there for ice cream and were “valeted” and I just had to share this life-changing news. And if you think convenience isn’t life-changing for parents, who do you think keeps Jimmy Johns online ordering and delivery operating?