Picture this: we’re leaving the mall, it’s 5:30 pm. Supper time. I’m hungry, Sacha’s hungry and a little irate, Tony is indifferent. We drive past Montana’s. Mmmm…ribs. I sure could use some ribs. Tony wants to go and pick up his weekly newspaper (he used to read the paper everyday, but being a parent has limited his paper-consummation). We go to the convenience store, which is located directly adjacent to a Tim Hortons.
Sacha is no stranger to the T-Ho’s. He knows it just by their drive-through. In fact, when I take Sacha to a local playgroup, I often go to T-Ho’s drive-through and order a beverage for me and 2 plain timbits for him. He knows it so well that when we approach the drive-though, he starts to sign “eating”. When he sees a Tim Hortons cup, he signs eating. When he hears the words “Tim Hortons” he tries to put his coat on and convince me to drive him there by pointing to himself and making a sign for driving.
I came back out of the convenience store with the paper and we leave the parking lot. Sacha starts yammering away at us, protesting. He points to the Tim Hortons building, viciously signing “eat eat!” We convince him that we are going to eat at a different restaurant and that he can have french fries.
We get to the restaurant, go inside. They tell us it will be a half hour wait. BAH! We get back into the car and see Sacha still pointing toward the direction of the Tim Hortons and signing “eat”. Meh, Tim Hortons and its fast service sounds pretty good right about now.
We drive back to Tim Hortons. Sacha looks at us as, clearly thinking “why the hell did we leave in the first place??”
So we resign to eating at Tim Hortons. For supper. Soup and sandwiches. And donuts. And coffee.
And it was pure bliss for Sacha.
Other than the fact that we did not sit where we usually sit. After our truly classy meal, he went over to that specific table, climbed up on the chair, and patted the table proudly, showing Daddy that this was his rightful seat.