You know, I sometimes wonder what it was like for my own mother raising two mixed kids, and hearing us come home with stories of "I got into an argument today with a kid because he said I was white and denying it" (me) or "my best friend asked me today if I was related to Saddam Hussein" (my brother). Or hear about me coming home from a school trip and hearing how I was one of the only ones pulled aside by the TSA at the airport to be specially searched. And watching me struggle to figure out what box to check on forms.

And you know, just...knowing that she loves us because we're hers just really does make a lot of those things secondary. Maybe some day, the rest of the world will catch up. In the meantime, I'm okay with my parents' label for my brother and me: "mine".

I suspect your kids are too.