La Moustache.

(Never mess with a girl with a gun . . . or a moustache, for that matter.)

Hmm. 

Well. 

I'm not quite sure how to feel about this, except . . . I almost wet my pants.  Too much information?  Truth is truth, and YOU might almost wet your pants, too (probably more so, if you had been there)!

In my favor, I'm proud of the fact that I don't take myself too seriously, or else this may have caused a week in bed with depression, along with an appointment to a salon for some permanent hair removal.

Is all this a little vague?  Allow me to clarify:

Picture me, Sunday morning, sitting in front of my bathroom mirror beautifying myself for church.  (Just so you know, I DID feel beautiful yesterday, all unfortunate remarks aside).  The kids get dressed in our room because that's where we iron church clothes.  Anyway, we're all prepping away and Will joins me in the bathroom.  Are you ready?  Here it goes.  Will says, in all innocence (dang it),

"Mom, are you growing a MOUSTACHE?"

WHAT?  Are you kidding?  I didn't quite know how to respond.  He was so sincere.  However, I cried/laughed, it was so funny.  We settled down after a bit and Ben says to me,

"Well, Netty, I love a woman with a little facial hair." 

Nice one, Honey.  Not so funny.  Oh, who am I kidding, it was hilarious!

Ahh, the innocence of childhood. 
Ahh, the brutal honesty of childhood. 
THIS is what keeps me humble (I'm not kidding). 
THIS is what keeps me smiling, in spite of it all.
THIS is something I'm sure I'll never forget.   

FYI: I don't think I'm going to do anything about this situation.  Upon close examination, I still feel pretty secure in my "facial hair," or the unobtrusiveness of it, anyway.   Facial hair is sexy, it's a new trend, trust me.