Aaron is our red-headed one. Not Carrot Top red, just a terrific shade of cinnamon. It's not scratch-n-sniff ... but it is wonderfully touchable!
Norah's hair is a lovely strawberry-blonde. A perfect kiss of red to make other people ooh and aah. And search the Clairol boxes in vain for, "Sweet Strawberry Kisses".
Ashley is our blondie. She doesn't have any red in her hair, just long golden, wavy locks, reminiscent of Rapunzel. With a few hyper-blonde highlights thrown in for fun!
And then there's Lydia. Our brunette. She has straight brown hair. Completely different from her siblings.
This would be a perfect example to me of the mystery of DNA. Each of us has a distinctive and unique cocktail of genes that make us who we are. What an amazing tribute to God's unending creativity and artistry! And you know as well as I do that their one-of-a-kind hair color is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to all the myriad of ways in which they are each individuals!
Now, someone from the outside could look at our kids and wonder if they all come from the same family - the same two parents. (Of course, they truly only have to hang out for a few moments to watch them and listen to them to see that they are, indeed, related!) Even though at times we might desire to distance ourselves from these four little people who follow us around, it doesn't take long to see the similarities between them and us.
"Yep. They belong to us."
Recently, Brett's mom and dad passed on a snapshot of their little tyke when he was about Lydia's age. We now have photographic evidence that I believe would hold up in the court of law as proof of Brett being the undisputed father of our Godzilla, er ... Liddy.
Isn't it a little crazy?! The same straight brown hair. The same severe bangs. The same furrowed brow of concentration. You'd have to trust me about the nose and mouth ... but she makes that same face with her lower lip pooched out. That is, when it's not stuffed in an ice-cream cone.
So ... the next time Lydia pitches a full-blown, I'm-screaming-til-I'm-blue, watch-my-feet-fly fit in Target, I can confidently turn to Brett and say ...