At the grocery store, she is hopping up and down and occasionally grabbing at her bottom.
"Z, Do you need to use the Potty?"
"No. Do you need to use the PAAAWWWWTTTTY?!" She drawls the word out and practically screams it.
On the way to church early on a Sunday morning.
"Momma? Will JAAAAZZZZZZUS be in church with us today? How come he never comes to visit?"
I tell her it's because she can't keep her room clean. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, afterall.
We are at a barbecue with several of our friends and the kids are arguing over who is better - the Florida Gators or the Florida State Seminoles. I hear one boy tell her, "The Seminoles are going to the National Championship, the Gators are going to the dump."
Z is upset.
"Momma, where are the Seminoles going?"
I am busy chopping vegetables and talking to my friends. "To Hell.", I respond without even really thinking about it. Z whips around, places her hands on her hips defiantly, "The Seminoles are going to the HAAAAAILLLLL." The room grows silent, her tongue sticks out and she stomps away, satisfied. I shrug my shoulders, it's not like hail is really a curse word.
As football season is about to begin in the next few weeks, she is seeing Seminole crap all over town. We live on their turf and it's to be expected. Every time she sees it, she smiles and points, "They are going to the HAAAAILLL, ain't they momma?" Always super country, always super cute. Old people gawk at the two of us as I try to maneuver past the display and onto something different - maybe they didn't really hear her.
She's 3. I'll think about censoring her if she ever goes back to school.