"Why Don't I Have Brown Cousins?"

"Mama, will baby cousin have hair?"
"I think so.  Probably just a little."
"Will he have nipples?"
"Most babies do."
"Will he be brown like me?"
"No, sweetie.  He'll be creamy vanilla like Creedence."
"Oh.  I wish he would be brown.  Why don't I have any brown cousins?  Nobody looks like me...."

Things I can't answer in the way that he wants me to.

We talked about how it's not true that nobody looks like him, because he has some chocolate brown friends at church and how we see chocolate people all over town.  He ended up saying that he's glad that he'll eventually have a brown sister.

And that my skin is yogurt colored.

I can't fix the extended family bit of sadness in his heart, and that's not likely a situation that will ever be fixed.  Michael and I have always been passionate about adoption, but we don't believe our family has a responsibility to feel the same way.
This is just a note to say that with adoption some moments are tougher than others, and some of my son's questions are tougher than others.

And just like that the sadness was over.  And he started talking about how his skin was chocolate, and was probably so yummy that he should start licking it.  And lick it he did.  Because he's four and illogical.