I sometimes refuse to admit that I live in the South now. I also have a hard time remembering that my children are Georgians. With no rhyme nor reason, I think they live in New Jersey.
Don't get me wrong. I've grown to love my life in Atlanta. There is much to be valued, learned and embraced. But there are some traits I'd rather not bring into the Magic Mansion.
Because I managed to grow up in New Jersey without that 'Owe. Maiy. Gawd.' accent, I assumed I carried some genetic trait that blocked the development of talk-to-be-made-fun-of. One Southern stereotype off my list that I figured my kids wouldn't adopt.
Once again, a Peanut proves me wrong.
Peanut Two has taken to carrying around a tiny, plastic baby in her hand. She loves it to no end and must sleep with it, walk with it, play with it. This past weekend we were at church and she decided it was to be called Baby Jesus.
Peanut Two has also taken to speaking very, very loudly with the clearest enunciation possible when she really wants to get her point across.
Now Baby Jesus is so small that it is often misplaced. Last night the search was on to find the little baby girl (yes, Jesus is a girl in our house). Peanut Two was searching all around for it, getting more and more riled up. Finally she began yelling -
"Where! ais! Bay! Bay! Jeeee! Suuus?!"
The Wise Woman of the South cometh.
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