Sometimes I think about it.
Sometimes it's a fleeting thought in the seconds before I drift off to sleep and glance at his arm around my middle and my brown hand resting on his not so brown arm. It always looks like a painting to me.
Simple and beautiful.
Sometimes it's the rare occasion when all three of us are captured in a candid picture. Our daughter between the two of us, making the picture look as if we're posing in graduating skin colors, from lightest (his), to medium (hers), to darkest (mine).
Her face, her skin a blend of both his and mine.
Sometimes he thinks about it when I'm oblivious. Like when I give him a little extra room at a checkout counter, but am still within his personal space, and the clerk helping him asks if she can help me. He lets her know that "uh...that's my wife" in a stern, sharp voice before I can answer.
He's my protector, a sensitive set of second eyes.
But most of the time, I don't think about it -- him being white, me being black and our daughter being both.
What I do think about is the stuff that an average married with kids person thinks about: what am I gonna make for dinner, is the kid on the computer too much, when is that doctor's appointment, are we ever gonna get a date night, he could make dinner for once, and why for the love of pete are there towels all over the bathroom? I mean, REALLY?
See? Normal stuff. Normal. Married with kids. Stuff.
However, I will be thinking about our skin differences on purpose, albeit in a different way.
Today is Loving Day, so I'll be thinking about the Loving Verdict, handed down by the Supreme Court forty-seven years ago, which made it possible for couples who are of different skin colors to be couples. Just couples. Normal married with kids couples who can appreciate their differences, see themselves in their kids, and stand up for each other when they need to. Whether they ever figure out why towels are all over the bathroom is an entirely different blog post.