Dust it off

The best scene in Christmas Story is when Ralphie says "Oh, fu-dge" but not. Lucian loves that scene.
"He doesn't really say fudge, does he, Mom?"
"Nope"
"He says what you say, right, the actual f-bomb."
"Right, the f-bomb."
"F.."
"OKAY, LUC, WE GET IT, MAN!"
Always pushing the entirely full envelope that boy. He enjoys that my facial expression hangs in the balance every time he opens his mouth. Who knows what will fly out, who knows. He called my father a "bitch" on Thanksgiving. Apparently Dad was tickling him and Lucian hissed under his breath.
"Let go a me, bitch."
My dad was in shock (yet he did admit to laughing, great) and then Lucian corrected himself.
"Let go a me bastard."
He must have figured out that my dad is of the male genus. Should I be shocked, 'cause I'm not. This is my son we're talking about. Random people in the supermarket tsk, tsk at his hyperactivity and give me tips on how to make him better-behaved.
Yeah, um, thanks for the tips people. And may I ask how long you've been wearing acid washed jeans? Also, weren't you in rehab last month? Just curious, but again, thanks for the childrearing tips, really, and have fun visiting your son in jail, I hear he has accepted Jesus as his personal savior and is now prison librarian.
Of course, Anna is perfect in public but when she comes home she's like a little gorgon with a popcorn obsession. She must be taking hormone injections on the bus. I call her the "Super Es (trogen)". She is both amusing and terrifying, tooling around the house with MY Ipod grooving to Keb' Mo' shaking her sizeable "trunk". Suddenly she is screaming her f***ing head off, saying she's going to run away with the dog (just the one that I hate).
It's hard to switch gears around here.