Wolf in Sheep's clothing

I have had a very rough couple of days. Yesterday reached the point where I required an evening out with Aubrey, and some much needed shopping therapy. Today was significantly better, although I had Cameron wondering when he tried to call the house this morning, and there was no answer. Figuring I was in the bathroom, he called back 15-20 minutes later. Still no answer, he started to wonder if we were going to be on the news. I called him back, assuring him everything was fine, and my day went on without much incident. Now, "not much incident" in this house still consists of a child dumping dishsoap out onto the floor, while another one attempts to help himself to a healthy snack of apple slices (no, they were not already sliced, making that all the more terrifying for the mother). Thank goodness for the supersonic hearing a mother inherits upon giving birth, squashing these adventures in the early stages.
The subject of this entry comes from what happened at the dinner table after Cameron arrived home. We'd been sitting there making pleasant conversation for a few minutes, when I moved my foot for one reason or another. It was then that I realized there was a quarter of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the floor, leftover from lunch. I asked the kids why it was there.
No answer.
Cameron asked who had had PB&J for lunch.
No answer.
I answered that all of them had.
This is where Cameron becomes the "mean dad" and starts "lecturing" the kids in his all too sarcastic tone about how they were all going to get a beating.
Andi interrupted in exasperation "No Daddy, you cannot beat us, because mommy does not want you to hurt her beautiful, wonderful, children. Right mommy? You won't let daddy beat your wonderful children will you?"
I just stared at my food.
Andi: We're wonderful right?
Me: "That's debateable..."
Cameron was in hysterics. I don't think we're gonna have to worry about that girl too much when it comes to self esteem. She sure thinks alot of herself...