At dinner, Rio engaged in a little friendly spitting-water-at-her-sister.

“Rio, you are being obnoxious,” I said, like you do when your kids are spitting at the dinner table.

“Mama, if I was your mother and you were my child and you were five years old and you were behaving this way, I would tell you that you were being obnoxious.”

Long pause while I try to figure out if she is agreeing with my parenting or criticizing it. Neither, it turns out, because the pause is interrupted with:

“Mama, what does obnoxious mean?”