Beardy Locks

Lately there is a lot of beard talk in our house. It's kind of confusing to an outsider because Dan grows a beard that is a poor imitation of one that Keanu Reeves might sport, so it's not as if we have beard trimmers laying all over the house, or beard grooming issues, or even beard PROBLEMS really. In fact, I can confidently say that of many of the problems that we DO have, none of them are beard related.

That is, unless you talk to Jack.

Jack is obsessed with beards. Luckily this newfound interest sprung up after our friend Scott B. had visited--for he is quite beardy and would have had to endure endless interogations from Jack on the subject of his beard. Which, who knows, might be the kind of attention Scott is looking for. He's a beardy dude. And sometimes neardy. But that's another post.

Sometimes as of late I will catch Jack sitting on the couch stroking his non-existent beard thoughtfully. Resisting the strong urge to hand him a pipe filled with tobacco, I asked him what he was doing, and he replied, in a completely non-chalant fashion: "Checking on my beard." I made the grimace that I usually make when I'm trying REALLY hard not to laugh in my children's faces.

[Aside: These kids are going to grow up thinking that I either have some reoccuring and painful hernia problem, or that the things that they say make my intestines spasm. All because of this face that I cannot help but make everytime I smother a laugh. It's starting to become a question of whether it would just be better to laugh at them than screw my face up like this.]

Anyway. So I asked him a follow-up question: "How is it doing?"

He looked at me, with an earnest, Will-Wheaton-in-Stand-By-Me-look and said, "It's still under my skin. It's going to come out soon. I can feel it."

I nodded, and turned around and screwed my face up. Maybe I'll give Scott B. a call to see if he can get down here soon to teach this kid how to grow a legitimate beard. Lord knows Dan won't be able to.