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- Subscribe - Contact Us - Rate Card - Place an Ad Archives Revels Classifieds Real Estate Menu Guide Wedding Weather Subscribe Contact Us June 13, 2005 Tales from the Crib Spilled wine and an understanding child As soon as we walked into the Standing Stone Brewing Co. on Oak Street, we knew we had stumbled into the right place. It had huge vats of beer brewing in stainless steel urns that reached almost to the cavernous ceilings, noisy patrons, lots of children and a whole wall of sticky, mangled toys and battered books. Jennifer Margulis It had been my father-in-law’s idea to go out, but since we had just moved to Ashland, we had spent the better part of an hour traipsing around town looking for a kid-friendly eatery. As we deliberated over each menu posted in the window, the cold nipped at my daughters’ hands and feet (they refused to wear socks, and mittens were practically verboten), and the rain curled my baby son’s wispy hair into ringlets. But it was warm and bustling inside the pub and the good spirits of the patrons and the scanty sparkly dress of the hostess cheered us all up. Our waitress had bangs that needed trimming and a defeated look on her face. Her white shirt was tucked haphazardly into her black pants and her apron strings were unevenly tied. “You ready to order?” she sighed, holding her pen so tightly it looked like her hand was cramping. “I’d like a martini with extra olives,” my father-in-law shouted, taking out his reading glasses to look at the menu, “and a glass of your house wine for my son over here.” The girls begged for raspberry lemonade and the baby fidgeted and roared on my lap. Hesperus, 5 years old, and Athena, 3 1/2, went to gather books and toys. They came back to their seats as the drinks arrived. “The house wine,” whispered the waitress, lifting the glass off the tray. That’s when it happened. The full glass of wine slipped out of her hands and managed, somehow, to spill all over Athena. As the wine glass fell, it shattered on the chair and splintered on the floor, shards of glass everywhere. Athena was completely soaked in wine. She had wine in her hair, in her eyes, on her face, and down her shirt. Her whole body shook and she wailed loudly enough to stop dead every conversation in the restaurant. “I’m cold, I’m cold,” Athena screamed, tears streaming out of her blue gray eyes. “I’m all wet. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. I’m all wet.” Athena stood trembling as I toweled her off with napkin after napkin. But her piercing screams subsided quickly. “I’m so so sorry,” the waitress mumbled sadly as she sopped up the floor around our chair. Athena, shirtless and shivering, looked at her sympathetically. “It’s OK,” she said. Athena knew all about spilling things. By 18 months she was insisting on drinking out of a cup (not a sippy cup, a grown-up cup) and she loved to play water and pouring games. She also knew how frustrated I got wiping up the 22nd spill of the day. But instead of getting angry, like I often did, Athena empathized with the waitress and felt sorry for her. It also helped that they brought Athena a brand new T-shirt with the restaurant logo on it and her older sister coveted it. “No fair,” Hesperus called, “I want one too!” “C’mere,” my father-in-law motioned with his drink glass, holding the martini above Hesperus’ head. “Here’s the deal, I spill this drink all over you, and then you get a T-shirt. OK?” The glass was cleaned up, my father-in-law ordered a second martini, and James was brought a fresh glass of wine. Athena ate her wagon-wheel pasta-and-veggie plate with ranch dip still sitting on my lap, sipping happily at her raspberry lemonade through a straw. Our waitress bent down to talk to her. “You sure you’re OK?” “I’m OK.” “You know I’m really really sorry.” “Thank you,” said Athena gently. “It’s OK. You don’t have to feel bad.” The waitress looked relieved. She held her chin up a little higher and tucked in her shirt. It was with those compassionate words that I realized that my daughter possessed more grace, kindness, and patience than I might ever know. Jennifer Margulis’s column, “Tales From the Crib,” appears every Monday in the Tidings. You can read more about her daughters, Athena and Hesperus, in her book, “Toddler: Real-Life Stories of Those Fickle, Irrational, Urgent, Tiny People We Love” (Seal Press). 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