The Second Child.

On Wednesday, Bean and Toot and I went downtown to get our hair cut. It was Rudy's first trim, but I didn't have my camera, and everyone in the salon was all, "Oh, the second child." And I was all, "Well, if I weren't coming from a doctor's appointment with my mom and my two-year-old which involved leaving before 7:30 a.m. to pick her up at least a half-hour away and then driving over a half-hour in a totally different direction and then getting stuck in traffic and then hanging out in the waiting room and then telling the doctor what my mother can't remember or doesn't even know about her medical history in the examining room and then missing Bean's preschool pick-up because I'm back on my way to the assisted living place and then the nurse and director want to talk with me again and then I need to drive back and grab a quick lunch at Heather's because she was able to pick up Marley for me, then, I would've had time to go home for my camera."

Luckily, it's 2010 and the phone that I can use anywhere because of satellites drifting in space also takes halfway decent pictures.

Rudy got a teeny, tiny trim. We almost went a little shorter, which I think would've been sweet and flattering for her little square face, but she was too fidgety for anything more precise. The good news is, Rudy loves getting her hair cut, so she'll be all set to go when it's time to try again. In fact, when Marley got up on the chair after her, Rudy was wailing, beside herself and clutching the blue froggy cape because she wanted to get back up. I distracted her with a lollipop. And then, by the time it was my turn, she had to be restrained in my lap and was only sufficiently satisfied when double-fisting Dum-Dums. And by the time we got home, she was about three hours late for her nap. Most moms might've powered through to an early bedtime at that point, but I needed my Rudy Toot to sleep because it had been a long day of being in charge of a woman over sixty with Alzheimer's and diabetes and two children under six with personalities that I love, admire, and when provoked, gnash my teeth and shake my fist at the sky about. And Rudy, who was exhausted after her day of beauty, did sleep, and was actually, in retrospect, pretty well-behaved at the salon.

Once I was home, I realized what a true champion she was, because at no time did she flail on the floor, overturn stylist stations, or hurl bottles upon bottles of nail polish at any of the other customers. Not many two-year-olds can hold that kind of untamed behavior back when their naps get pushed back so far. I'm pretty sure that at that age Marley would've been all splotchy and panting after a monumental tantrum.

Speaking of Marley, when did she turn into a twenty-six-year-old who only has time to grab an espresso before she and her colleagues head back to the office to review the numbers they've been crunching for next week's presentation? She wanted her hair shorter, and she got it, and she is even more all business now, I think.

Marley did not need any lollipops to relax while my hair was straightened and trimmed. She is way more elegant than I am, and she sat quietly in the waiting area overlooking Main Street with her legs crossed like a lady, contentedly perusing a recent issue of Bride's magazine.