Who taught this kid how to talk?

The other day, my 7 year old and I were standing in the kitchen. She was wearing her Parrot costume while slathering peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat. As I took out pots and pans for dinner, I eyed the PB&J for a moment, wondering if that was acceptable dinner fare. Deciding against it, I took out the next best thing: spaghetti noodles.

7: Mom, you know WHUT. Even in study hall, some kids be mean.

Me: [while pondering my child's inability to properly speak her native language] Is that so. Where's the big pot?

7: [shrugs] Yeah. And even when they hit on ACCIDENT MOM, Mrs. Teacher makes the kids do Planning Time.

She pauses for effect, waiting for my reaction to this ghastly news.

Me: Is that a bad thing? [muttering] Why isn't anything where it belongs?

7: It's the worst thing ever, Momma. NOBODY likes planning time.

Me: Why? I thought planning helped you... you know. Plan. [holding up plastic fish] Why is this in the cabinet?

7: [takes fish. Looks at it. Tosses it back into the cabinet] Mrs. teacher is mean.

Me: What do you think I would do if you were hitting someone?

7: [widens eyes] You can't do THAT stuff at school, Mom. For Real.

Me: What, time outs? What's wrong with a time out? You can't do that?

7: No. The consequences are SO way worser.

Me: Kinda like your English, kid.