a tale of a thirty-six-year-old bard and his beard.

happy 36th birthday to todd, todder, toddest, who beardlessly used to look like this:

if you try to tell me that doesn't look exactly like atticus will in like five years, i will slap you in the mouth for being a dirty liar.

a while after he looked like that, he looked like this:

yes, ma'am, them's some piercin's.  and a braided, beaded beard.  (SAY THAT ONE MILLION TIMES FAST. go ahead.  i'll wait.  a braided, beaded beard... a braided, beaded beard...)

his beard got baptized, along with the rest of him:

(before you even ask, he was never in a bike gang, but he DID smoke cigarettes for like ten years, which is kind of the same thing.  are you shocked?!?!)

then, when he was in turkey, he got simulated-baptism'ed in an ancient baptismal, but this time his braided beard wasn't invited.

then his beard tried to annex his whole face:

then the beard receded into the background for a bit as a goatee, and sometimes made way for his...temporary panamanian face tattoos.

then there was that year that he gave his beard free rein during lent and this monstrosity happened:

more recently, his beard has been well-groomed and business casual.

...though, i will mention that it took this brief turn last month:

but its sweet spot is right at that point that i call 'second-week beard.'  and its sweetest spot is wherever it's close enough in proximity to our kids that they get beard burn.

well, you know what i always say since the moment i made it up just now: a man is only as old and full of life as his beard.  which means that todd is downright vivacious, and also only like twenty-ish years old.  which makes me a cradle robber with some exceptionally well-bearded arm candy.

happy birthday, husband and husbeard!  we all love you both!