Anywhere I go with my kids I notice a wave of eyes staring them down. They’re friendly onlookers enchanted by their bright eyes and bouncy curls. At least I assume that’s what strangers are drawn to. Though I really like to think it’s their sweet spirits pulling them in.
It’s been about three years since the last time a stranger asked if she was mine. My mom asked me if I get that much but I think she’s grown to look a little more like me–Or perhaps I’ve got the “mom look” down now, so no one assumes otherwise.
On my way back from Atlanta this week I stood in line waiting for my Chick-fil-a. The woman behind the counter asked me about my kids.
“What are they mixed with?” She asked me.
“What?” It took a second for her question to register.
“What are your kids mixed with?” She asked again.
“Oh. White…” I said it almost like a question. I was sure, but unsure if that’s what she wanted to know.
“Oh, I thought they was somethin’ else.” She replied.
I chuckled off the innocent comment but walked to the plane with my two kids wondering what she thought they might have been.
I rehashed the story to my husband who told me he always gets asked the same question.
I guess when we’re all together our family makes sense. Apart, and we’re a beautiful mystery.