So “F-ing” cute

In his preschool class, Max is working his way through the alphabet, one letter each week.  We have such fun finding words each week, ya know words like “eradicate” and “elusive.”  Max’s favorite was “epithelial.”  I think I see a future in the medical field!  Especially after he stuck out his tongue and showed me his Ebner glands and drew a picture of the Ebola virus!  “Mommy! Look!  Eh-eh-epidemic!” 
This week, naturally, is “F” week.  While we were getting ready for school on Tuesday morning, Max told me we need to work on our F-words.  I need no help at all with my F-words, thank you very much, but of course I never, ever drop an F-bomb in the presence of my little darlings.  Ever.
“F-f-fall!” Max exclaimed!
“Great job, Maxwell!”
“F-f-fire truck!”
“That’s right, Buddy!”
Looking around the bathroom, he started adding f’s to random words:
F-f-foilet!
F-f-foothbrush!
“No, Sweetie, those aren’t words.”
“F-f-fuck!”
“That isn’t a word either, Max.”  I thought I could use this line of denial to deter him from stuttering obscenities during circle time.
“Yes it is, Mom!  Listen! F-f-fuck! Fuck!”
“Ok, fine.  It’s a word. But it’s a really bad word so don’t you dare say that at school or you’ll get into big trouble and have to sit in the office all day! And your teacher will wonder what kind of effing mother I am such that my three-year-old knows the F-word and can probably use it in context. 
I F-f-finished brushing his hair and just waited for him to F-f-flip me the F-f-finger before running off but instead I got a “Fanks, Mom!” and he tossed me up this one: