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The other day, Cameron and I were driving to school, just the two of us.  "You know what?"  Cameron said from the backseat.  "When I was in preprimary, everyone knew Matthew was my brother.  But in elementary, some of the kids haven't seen Matthew before.  Lots of times, when they do see him, they say, 'Who's that kid?'"
"What do you say to them?" I asked. 

"I say, 'That's my little brother, Matthew.'  And then they usually say, 'How is he your brother?' I think because Matthew's black and I'm white."

"I think you're right," I said.  "Lots of kids aren't used to seeing brothers that have different skin colors.  What do you say when kids say that?"

"Well," said Cameron, "I just tell them!  He's my brother because I adopted him!"

The Beginning, revisited

Last week, we had an amazing experience.  We took Matthew back to the hospital he was born at, so he could see where he was before he came home with us.  He's seen the photos and he always has questions -- where's that room?  where's that tiny bottle?  who took care of me? 

So I contacted a social worker at the hospital and told her what I wanted to do.  She came through in a BIG way!  Matthew was able to see the very room where we took our first family photo, the very nursery where Cameron first saw him, the very rocking chair that we first held him in.  The nurse who had taken care of him remembered him and wrote him a beautiful letter.  The social worker gave him a tiny baby bottle and a knit hat like the one he came home in.  Matthew was fascinated by it all and it brought back so many happy memories for the rest of our family.  And as soon as we got home, Matthew stretched the little hat over his great big head, filled the tiny bottle with water and requested that I rock and feed him like a tiny baby.  Which I did, but I will resist the urge to post the photo here, lest he be embarassed by it when he's a teenager!