I hate Movember. Movember is what some men do when they get bored in the fall. They grow mustaches, and then rename the month in honor of the facial fuzz. Hence, Movember. And because nobody does bored like the Pacific Northwest (and because it will be fall here until July), all over Seattle men are sporting the ‘stache.
M does not yet have a mustache. He spends the month growing a beard, which he will, at the very end of the month, shave off… partially. Because a mustache really is the mark of  a man you would never leave alone with your children, he has the good sense not to wear one all month. He’ll just do it for a day. Or three.
But even the beard is wearing on me.
I was quite clear: Beards are for men with bad skin and weak chins, neither of which he has. But he has gotten quite good at hearing nothing  I say, so the beard stays.
In other news I handed over my baby sling to Francie’s teacher, who is about to burst forth with child. It is bright green and stretchy and I hadn’t given it away yet because in some sad corner of my mind I thought I might make a throw cushion made out of it. You know, as a  reminder of all the time I spent wearing those precious little babies. But I can’t sew a button (I shamefully outsource that task to the drycleaners), so the cushion is a pipe dream. And while men grow facial hair in the fall, I clean house. So in my cleaning frenzy I decided to part with the sling. Because even though Efram is incredibly broody (daily he asks for a new baby, preferably a boy), the baby ship has sailed and the sling will sail with it.
I could be wistful but I’m slightly panicked because last  night Bennett asked if he could do Movember when he’s old enough. My God, I hope he has the Geller facial hair genes that will prevent him from having to shave daily until he’s 30, because it’s one thing for M to go grizzly, but I don’t think I could handle it coming from the boys.
You just cannot wear someone in a sling and then be forced to look daily at his fuzzy little mustache.
It’s unthinkable.