That's where I am.
Shake'n'Bake goes to a 2-4 year olds gymnastic program at our local community center once a week, and during this time she has made a super best friend whom she loves to play with and hold hands. It's adorable, trust me.
Well, the other week at gymnastics Shake'n'Bake and her best friend (let's call her Megan) were holding hands when my adorable and curious 3 year old looks down and asks me:
"Mommy, why is Megan's hand dark brown
and my hand is light brown?"
Oh, did I mention that one of Megan's parents is (GUESSING!) African American?
I swallowed the enormous ball in my throat and prepared to deal with my child's first question about race.
"Well look," I said, placing my hand near theirs, "Mommy's hand is a different colour than yours, just like Megan's hand is a different colour than yours. Everyone has a different colour of skin, just like hair, and eyes."
I was preparing for the next fatal blow when Shake'n'Bake just accepted this (as the fact that it is...really, c'mon) and the two of them ran off to jump on a mat together.
And it was done. I had explained different skin colours as casually and truthfully to my 3 year old as I could, and she accepted it as nothing unusual.
And I was SO proud of myself that I had to tell people. A lot of people. So there.