personal growth

While N. sits here on the couch, discussing the finer points of yesterday's football games with his mother while watching Penn State tickle the 'Noles...  I am forced to find other things to occupy my time.  You see, it is Bowl Season which means I could run around this house, naked and on fire, dangling Bean by the pinkie toe, whilst spending obscene amounts of money on frivolous, luxury items with horrible resale values and only illicit an irritated look and a terse "SHHHHH!" from my spouse.  Last night the better part of my evening was spent listening to N. curse at the Irish (Notre Dame Irish, not persons descendant from the folk of Ireland) and offending Go*d himself. 

I have come to discover that not only did I marry an angry football fan, but I could become an actual Football Widow...  N. could seriously blow a major artery while watching one of these games.

As payback for the seven days of neglect, exposure to the most creative combinations of cursing this side of Deadw*ood, and the prospect that Bean could grow up barely remembering his father, I am letting y'all in on N.'s latest project, which I have dubbed... Project Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia.

For the past eight days, N. has attempted to grow himself a beard.  This is a journey that we attempt each and every year about this time. And every year, we are hopeful that N. will achieve full growth, thus reaching an important milestone in the journey from boy to man. 

And alas, we are always disappointed. He continues to be my man-boy.

Unfortunately, it did not occur to me to chart the day-to-day progress of Project Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia as I have never really had a venue for discussing N.'s pitiful beard-growing skills.  I did, however, capture his beard last night in all its 19-year old, Appalachia trailer park trash glory.  And here they are for your viewing (and mocking) pleasure.  If you look directly to the left, you may also be lucky enough to catch one going by on the photo badge. But try to head over the flickr, as I have included helpful study hints. 

Now, in fairness to N., part of the problem is that some of his beard hairs are actually white-blond.  That means you have to be practically licking his cheek to see them. Plus, the hair grows at an alarmingly varied pace, hence the striking resemblance to Shaggy.

Do you think that he will EVER be able to grow a respectable beard? Not that I really want him to...  it is more that I want to know that if we are ever required to flee from a dubious group of sweaty and anxious men, N. could grow a decent disguise.

And hey, I bet that I can come up with a pretty groovy prize for the best nickname.  And no, it isn't the sponge holders.

Comments

[Chag]

Won't you lose your husband again this weekend when the NFL playoffs begin? I've already told my wife she's on kid duty all weekend.

[buffi]

SD can't grow a beard or a mustache. He doesn't even have the blonde excuse. I'm not sure why and I'm not complaining, I just hope that this will help N. feel better!

[tpon]

Actaully, we are a college sports household. The only reason that N. is showing ANY interest in the NFL playoffs this year is the most unbelievable Bengals season.

[Kate W.]

Ahhh yes the Bengals. If you want to see crazy NFL guy come on over to my house. HE is a SEASON TICKET HOLDER TO THE BENGALS...sigh He is seriously going to have a heart attack. It is embarrassing-really. At least the obnoxious amount of money he spends on tickets is finally paying off.

[Holly]

Ah ha ha ha!! You are so funny, loved the pics and the commentary.

Funny, Firedaddy decideded to grow a beard (boatee is more like it) too. He didn't even tell me, I just figured it out when it started coming in.

He can grow 'em, but boy do I hate kisses from him while it is coming in. For two weeks now, they've been PAINFUL!

We are Bronco's fans here. Go Bronco's!

[Holly]

Sorry for the typo... meant goatee, not boatee. Geez.

[MIM]

Sheesh. I grown a better beard than he does.