H: "Mummy, do you think the moon is light?"
Me: "You mean, do I think the moon is made of light?"
Me: "No, I think the moon is mostly made of rock."
H: "Very good, Mummy! That's right."
Tonight was a little different. We had just finished reading Cinnamon by Neil Gaiman and Divya Srinivasan, which she received as a Christmas present from the aforementioned Auntie Kate, and which features an Indian girl and a tiger. It specifically mentions Cinnamon's soft brown skin. When I was reading those descriptions, Humuhumu wove her fingers into mine, and was looking at our skin.
I leaned over to take off her glasses and put them on her purple owl glasses holder. She slung an arm round my neck and whispered to me.
H: "Mummy, are we white people?"
Me: "...No, honey, not entirely."
H: "What do you mean?"
Me: "I mean you are part white and part Filipino."
H: "What's Filipino?"
Me: "The broader term is Asian. Where Grandpa is from."
H: "Oh. Will I be a white person when I grow up?"
Me: "No, you will always be part Asian, because Mummy is, and Grandpa is. You will always be a bit brown."
H: "Mummy, can you tuck me in now? I'm ready to sleep."
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