Beard...it grows on you.

For the past four months, my husband has been moonlighting.

In addition to his duties as an immigration attorney, he started growing a beard.

Facial hair might not seem like it would take so much effort; after all, I find it quite easy to grow leg hair, and much, much quicker than I would like. I was surprised, frankly, by the energy one must put in to the growth of these bristles, but apparantly for men, beard is very time consuming (I would imagine this is a sad truth for some women as well).

Mostly, growing a beard requires a lot of looking, contemplating, and more looking. During the really intense growth season (which I don't think ever let up), if there were gaps in conversation or activity, Paul suddenly disappeared. In the end, I would always, everytime, find him standing at a mirror with a deliberate gaze. (I am obviously exaggerating to a degree, and Paul's beard in no way had a negative effect on all the other things he does everyday.)

Beard required a lot of questions, sometimes directed at me, but usually with no answer required. Should I trim, he would say. How full should this get. How long do I want this. How soon until I look like I play with Z Z Top.

I didn't have a lot of anwers, for I was not terribly supportive of Beard. Beard was cruel and caused pain. It covered Paul's face like kudzu on the highway. And mostly, Beard ate up a whole lot of time.

But truth be told, Beard was already taking up time before it came on the scene. Paul had been ruminating facial hair for quite some time -- our whole marriage I think -- a threat he had yet to carry out. He last had a beard in law school, which ended badly when he shaved his cheeks and ended up looking like someone working for Satan (according to his classmates).

So when talk of Beard got serious this past Fall, I kept quiet. It's time, I told myself. Beard comes to every man. Stop trying to outwit Beard.

So we took the plunge. It was a new way of life. A new source of conversation. New decisions to make, a heightened sense of responsiblity.

During all this, Paul said he would shave after his half-marathon, a race that took even more effort than Beard. I didn't have my heart set on this, because he really loved Beard. Over time, it took on a life of its own, and before I realized it, well -- I didn't really mind.

I was, however, starting to get curious about the whole thing when one day, in a most uncharacteristic move, Paul wore hiking boots, his REI fleece and a now very, very overgrown Beard to the office. "When are we going to hike the Appalachian?," I asked seriously, of my dream that has been denied by the attorney (and having four boys back-to-back).

No answer as Paul took one last look (at Beard) before heading out for work.

We left that afternoon for the race at Tybee Island. The run was Saturday, and I must say Beard made it very easy to spot Paul among the thousand-plus runners. They did great, and we were so proud.

When we got home Saturday evening, Paul went off to do his post-race rituals. I heard the buzz of a razor but didn't think much of it. When he emerged, Beard was gone.

It was shocking at first. While it was a treat to see his handsome face emerge, a sad reality hit me.

Beard was gone -- and just when I started to enjoy its company.