Oh. My. God. Know-it-all ten year olds. All evening he’s been treating us to snide pronouncements on how to raise his younger sisters.

Both Ethan and Rachel had homework, but Rachel forgot hers at school. “Well,” (you have to picture the 10-year old hauteur implicit in his tone) “You shouldn’t have let Rachel use the computer.”

“She’s not using the computer.”

“Well she did before supper. And she’s not supposed to use the computer until her homework is done.”

“You used the computer too before supper.”

“Yes but I haaaave my homework.”

…So are you saying that you think we should be stricter with requiring that everyone does their homework before playing on the computer? Because I think we should, but you’d sure be put out if this gambit hindered your own freedoms.

I did not say that. I kept my mouth shut, rolled my eyes heavenward and went back to reading Hannah a story.

Ian brought out the vaccuum cleaner, saying he’d like to vaccuum before the kids are in bed. “I’d take Hannah upstairs right now if I were you,” Ethan tells me, but I didn’t acknowledge because I didn’t feel like arguing with him.

“I’d. Take. Hannah. Upstairs. Now. If I were you,” he pronounces more firmly.

“No,” I say gently, taking care to remain as disengaged as possible. “I think she’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you don’t then Hannah’s just going to start screaming and crying and that will just make things noisier.” Said in perfect, “it’s your funeral if you fail to listen to me, you pathetic moron” tone.

Both Ethan and Rachel had been told “do your homework and then you can have some ice cream,” before we discovered that Rachel’s homework wasn’t in her back pack. So halfway through Ethan’s homework time, Rachel says, “mom can I have some ice cream now?” And I said, “no, you’ll have to wait a bit.” But Ethan jumped in talking over me. “No you can’t because I’m not done MY homework.” I had to say, “how about you settle down. I already told her she had to wait, so stop policing how I raise every child who’s not you.”

After much whining and moping about how his homework (not begun until a half hour before bedtime) is too arduous, I suggested that he could take an ice cream break and then take his homework to bed with him and stay up a bit in his room working on it.

During the ice cream eating, Rachel took a bite of her ice cream and said cheerfully, “ow. I have sensitive teeth.” “No you don’t,” Ethan told her as if she was in the throes of hysterical hypochondria.

“It’s usually adult teeth and she’s got some adult teeth in the front,” Ian told them.

“Yep, I do. See,” Rachel answered blithely, oblivious to the fact that any utterance on her part was an invitation for another smack-down.

“You have one adult tooth. The other one looks small to me.“