"My little monkey."

Suzannah and I were reading stories today, and in the middle of one of them she said, "Mommy, do you like monkeys?" (There was a monkey on the page, I think. It wasn't all that relevant to the actual story, but whatever.)

"I like monkeys, Zannah."

"I like monkeys, too. Do you have a monkey?"

"I have a little monkey named Suzannah."

"You're my little monkey too, Mommy."

***
Matt and I "take turns" with Suzannah when we're driving. Sometimes it's her turn to pick the music, and sometimes it's our turn. Sometimes we have to endure 100 Toddler Favorites and sometimes she has to listen to Bob Dylan (whom she has actually been known to request).

(I think we instituted the "taking turns" rule after a road trip to Minnesota in which we listened to HOURS AND HOURS AND HOURS of Toddler Favorites, and YES MOM AND DAD, I know perfectly well that you're reading this and thinking, "Well, now you know how we felt when we had to listen to The Lollipop Dragon all the way to South Dakota when you were three years old." Hey, guess what, I can still sing that song. SO CAN MY DAD. Anyway.)

Anyway, we take turns, and the other day it was Suzannah's turn. So we're singing "The Wheels on the Bus," and it's all good, and then we get into "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt."

And my daughter sings, very enthusiastically, "John, Jacob Jingleheimer SHIT!"

I did not correct her, and I laughed really hard, which made her sing it even more enthusiastically. I am a bad person.