A new twist on the biracial family

     A few years ago, I was always a little sensitive about stating the obvious, the elephant in the room.  We are white and our kids our black.  Anymore, I crack up at Blake and Etienne telling the lady in the check out line, "He's my twin," (this always leaves a stranger speechless).  I am not sure if I have grown accustomed to the stares or maybe I am too busy making sure that I don't lose a kid to care about the looks.
     Last night at the park a little boy stopped at my feet as I was snuggling Zeke.  It's funny when kids blatantly stare.  I said hello and he asked "Is that really your kid?"  I shook my head yes and kissed Zeke again.   He said "Ok," and went on his way.  Love that.  So simple.  It's us grown ups that usually screw things up by making it more complicated than it is.
     Last week on our last night without Daddy, we cashed in on our four kids-eat-free coupons at a local restaurant.  As we were eating, I definitively felt the stares.  One couple kept turning and doing the I'm-pretending-to-look-out-the-window-but-my-husband-wants-me-to-look-at-you stare.  I looked them directly in the eyes with each slow glance and smiled big.  After a while,  I finally asked Molly if she noticed a lot of people looking at us.  Her reply was classic.

"Mom. It's because there is only one grown up out to eat with four kids."

     So there you go.  I was complicating things!