Wednesday, March 7, 2012

On Beards

I have many thoughts about beards.  It's rare day that my husband isn't sporting some sort of facial hair.  Beards, sideburns, goatees and Van Dykes are "in my face" all the time.

And I love it.

When my husband is clean shaven, he's really cute and I still adore him endlessly because he's my Dustin, but I REALLY like it when he's sporting some facial hair. It's darned sexy.

I have these thoughts about my husband and his beard off and on all the time, but just now, I was watching a music video where two men had scruffy beards. This set a train of thought in motion this morning and I realized one of the reasons I like facial hair so much is it's so definitively MAN.  It's something I'll never have.  Perhaps it sounds silly, but the fact that I'll always have a soft face with a delicate jaw and my husband has to make a daily choice to shave or deal with the resulting scruff (YUM!) on his strong jaw stirs the same feelings I wrote about here.  I love that.  Maybe that makes no sense to anyone but me, but facial hair is just so... quintessentially man.  

Don't confuse my love of beards with a love of all forms of facial hair.  Check out this hilarious website I discovered as I pondered this post.  The La Souvarov... NOT my favorite style.  In fact, a few months ago, about thirty or so minutes before Dustin and I were supposed to go to dinner with a big group of friends, he walked out of the bathroom with this face-do:

My friend, when commenting on this pic, said, "I am glad that we have the "stache" documented for all to remember the legendary way to really get under Clancy's skin!"

I was LIVID that Dustin shaved this into his face mere minutes before we went out with friends.  I wouldn't even look at him.

I did get over it, eventually.  I had to beg divine intervention to do so.  Seriously.  I prayed that I could let it go and just have a great night out.  God is merciful and kind and I actually felt an immediate lightening of my anger after my petition.

I know.  I'm crazy.  Maybe I was PMSy?  That sounds like a good excuse.

The point is that not all facial hair is created equal, in my opinion.  I love me a Van Dyke or a nice scruff-beard with a clean neck.  I don't love the neck hair.  Things need to be tidy.  I even love when Dust goes a little crazy and shave in some mutton chops.  When he is clean-shaven, I like him to leave sideburns.

I try very hard not to dictate what he shaves, but it's really hard for me to keep my mouth shut (or pucker up for a kiss) when I don't like his current choice of face-do.

Aren't you glad you aren't my husband?  Poor guy.


This ends my thoughts on beards.

Friday, March 2, 2012


Right now I am in a hotel room in Boise, ID.  My sweet Dustin is [hopefully] relaxed and confident at this moment as he is taking his test to become a FG/GIT (Field Geologist/Geologist in Training).  I've just been killing time while I wait for him to finish.  (I'm so proud of him!!!)

A few minutes ago, my cell phone rang.  I went to it thinking it would be my mom or dad who have my kiddos.  As I looked at my phone, I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was my Grandfather calling me from Texas.  I answered and after a few hellos and howareyous, Grandpa told me that he had eaten some chocolate just before bed last night and had unknowingly carried bits of it from his clothes or fingers onto his bed sheets.  So this morning, upon awakening, he had chocolate stains on his sheets. 

My adorable Grandpa called me from Texas to ask me how to get chocolate stains off of his sheets. 

I haven't had conversations on the phone with my Grandpa very often in my life.  It seems as though the only times I did were when he and my mom were talking and she would put it on speaker phone and we'd all say hi.  I'm sad to say that I rarely called my Texas Grandparents just to say 'hello and I love you'. 

My sweet grandmother is gone now.  That is hard and tragic. 


Because of her death, I went to Houston and spent a week there.  For three of those days, there was no one else there except my parents, my Grandpa and myself.  Grandpa and I connected in a way we never have in the past.  He told me things.  He cried to me, mourning over his sweetheart.  He kept apologizing for his tears and I told him to let them come, that he needed those tears over his lost love.  I held my aged Grandfather as he wept, cradling and stroking his head between my shoulder and my ear as I cried with him. 

While I was there, I tried to help Grandpa get things in order.  There is a terribly overwhelming amount that needs doing, but I did my best to make a dent in it.  As we talked on the phone this morning, he told me of the progress of some of those things.  I guess Grandpa really felt my sincere desire to help him while I was there and had also felt how our connection had been strengthened, because he called me, ME!, to help him with his sheets.  I'm sure he tried to call my mom and my aunts first, but I can't tell you how it warmed my soul that I was on the list of people to call for help in matters of laundry. 

There is always dark and light in every situation, equal and opposite.  A light to counter some of the pain of grandma's death is the manifestation of a deeper connection with my grandfather.

I love you, Grandpa.