When my parents were here for Thanksgiving, my mom told me she wanted a photo of Greg and me to put in their new house in Ohio. I told her we hadn't had one taken in quite a while, but that as soon as Greg shaved, I would have a friend come over and take one.
Let me just stop right now and say that my husband loves to grow facial hair. He changes it from week to week, and I never know if I'm going to come home and find him with a goatee or sideburns or a handlebar mustache or what. I think over Thanksgiving he was going for either a Grizzly Adams look or a David Crowder one, but either way my mom and I agreed that the picture could wait until he was done with that.
This Sunday at my church, there was a photo booth set up to take photographs of married couples. One of our church members is a professional photographer whose wife died suddenly a year ago, and his biggest regret was that they hadn't had their picture made together. So he decided to spend two Sundays photographing couples as a tribute to her memory. So sweet. So here we are in our Sunday-going-to-meetin' jeans, straightened hair, and clean-shaven face. Well, mine wasn't clean shaven, but you know what I mean.
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