Beard broke my heart

Morning was so good. I woke up to waffles, made on my new adorable heart shaped waffle iron. Ian made them. He also made home-made syrup that exploded all over the stove top. Sometimes Ian thinks homemade syrup should have some baking soda. That syrupy heart-shaped waffle tasted great.

We practiced the song we were singing in church.  Our two big little girls and Ian and I were all singing a song together.  I thought it sounded pretty good. I was excited for our big day. Things were really going my way.

Then I sat there while it happened to me.

Ian walked out of the bathroom and his face was bald.

Bald.

There was no warning. No conversation. Not even a whisper that this moment was coming. Needless to say, I did not take it well.

I love that beard.  

Some people have talents they were just born with. Like they instinctively know how to play with two year old people, or they are born with a fantastic sense of style, or a fast runner right from the start. You know, just stuff people were born to do.

Ian was born to grow a beard.  That beard is a thing of beauty.  Thick, black, all-over gorgeousness. I didn't even know it existed until after we were married, and I fell in love all over again once I met it. Hello beard. You are beautiful.

See, Ian is so happy with a beard.

Shaving and Ian are not good for each other.  He dulls razors quickly, and he doesn't look clean shaven 8 hours after he shaves because his hair grows so fast.  He has to shave twice a day to stay smooth. The shaving irritates his sensitive skin.  Even after he shaves the black hair shows through the white skin, so he doesn't appear to be clean shaven, even though he is. 

I don't know why he wanted to shave. He says it was for variety, he just wanted a change. 

If life is so tedious, then pierce your ears, dye your hair blue, eat dessert before dinner, ride a roller coaster, or take a road trip. But, please leave your beautiful beard alone.

Well, after I saw the sheer face, I went into shock. I fell to the ground on the pile of dirty towels that had yet to be washed, and I didn't move for awhile. I was thinking. I guess I wasn't thinking.  My brain was broken and fuzzy. Why was I taking this so hard? I couldn't figure it out. Maybe because I didn't have any warning. Maybe because it was forced on me and I am a deep down control freak.  I don't know. Still don't know.  But I could feel it.  My heart.  It was broken.

The thing is when I was cutting my hair last week, my two year old laid on the hair and screamed at me while I was sitting with a black apron draped around my neck.  Nicole, the gal who cut my hair, and I thought it was funny.  We laughed at her as she screamed and kicked her legs on the floor. Kids are so funny. My hair fell to the floor, and she would look at me and scream, and then put her head down, and then look back up. Her tantrum was so ridiculous to me.  Did she think I was changing who I was? Did she just think it looked that bad with the hair clips and everything?  What was she thinking? After the haircut was over. She, the two year old, she got over it.

 "Cute haircut, mommy." Her words.

I hope I do. Get over it, I mean. That would be good. It would show maturity. At least the maturity of a two year old. 

 That would be progress.