A Hairy Situation

Chores, chores, and more chores. Our lives are filled with things we have to do. 

Think of all the chores in your life. There's always one that stands out as the one you dislike doing the most, right? It might not be the one that takes the most time. And it might not be the one where the most effort is involved. I'm talking about the chore that for some strange reason, you just don't like.

For me, the household chore I loathe is unloading the dishwasher. My feelings toward this chore are completely irrational. I don't know why I hate it. But each time I find myself opening a clean dishwasher, loaded with sparkling dishes, I groan. Ugh. Not again. I would much rather mop the floor or vacuum the carpets. Even do the laundry. But the dishwasher ... It's my nemesis.

Besides the household chores, my life is also filled with Jeff chores - the stuff I do to care for him. And just like the house, there's one chore that I dread each time we have to do it ...

Trimming his beard.

Again, completely irrational. There's so many other things I do that are ... how do I put it ... much more personally invasive. And frankly, most have a much higher yucky factor. 

There's just something about trimming his beard that I do. not. like.

My god, I wish there was a pill I could give him to stop the hair on his face from growing. 

Don't get me wrong, I like my husband with a beard - a nicely trimmed beard with tight lines - just like he used to wear it. Back in the old days. The days before I was in charge of grooming his facial hair.

I was looking at some old pictures just the other day, and came across one of my favorites of Jeff and Evie. Here it is.

Once I picked my heart up off the floor, I began looking at the picture more closely and thought. "Wow - Jeff's beard looks great here." 

Here's a visual of what I was seeing in my mind:

Believe me, I never truly appreciated the art of beard grooming until now.

It's just something, as a woman (who is not a hair dresser - or a barber) that I guess I never expected to have to do.

When Jeff was in the hospital, we went months without trimming his beard. It was only when the itching became too much for him to handle that he asked me to do it. I remember him instructing me which clippers to bring in, how to charge them, then how to HOLD them when I was in the act of trimming.

He reassured me that I couldn't screw it up. I laughed a laugh that said, Yeah, right.

I was so nervous. I mean, this was his FACE. What he presents to the world.

Back in the days before the accident, the only hair grooming I was in charge of for him was trimming the back of his neck after he would give himself a haircut (i.e. clipper cut). For the most part, I did a decent job, though we both remember, and would like to forget, the time I botched the left side so badly that I had to cut into the right side just to try to even it out. It was still lopsided until the next trim.

So I was going into this whole beard trimming thing with little confidence.

Over time, I'm happy to say I've made some strides in the confidence area, and perhaps my skills have increased a bit.

Still, it remains a chore I abhor. And honestly, I let waaaay too much time pass between trims.

Case in point.  Here is another heartwarming picture of Jeff and Evie I took just a week ago. They were caught sharing a taste of the brownie batter - one of their favorite things to do.

Once I wiped the sappy smile off my face, I looked more closely and thought, "Gah! His beard looks awful!"

Here's what my mind saw:

So needless to say, yesterday was beard trimming day. I don't have any photos, but I can assure you it looks better than the one above. I also confess that the only reason I gave in to the trim is because we're taking family pictures on Monday. And I couldn't have my husband looking all scraggly.

I really should get on board with the whole beard trim. If for no other reason, just to pay homage to the great job Jeff used to do.

How many times did I watch him trim his beard?

Hundreds.

How many times did I applaud him for his trimming skills?

Never.

How often do I wish he could raise his hands to his face and trim away?

Every time I turn on the clippers.

(Believe me ... the results would be so much better!)