After being away on a business trip for a week, I was excited to get back home. My boys, Tommy and Alex, were likely bouncing off the walls waiting for me, and I figured my husband, Mark, would be more than ready to hand over the parenting reins. He’s a great dad, but let’s just say he’s more of the “fun parent” than the responsible one.
I pulled into the driveway around midnight, the house dark and quiet, just as it should be at this hour. I tiptoed inside, eager to collapse into bed. But as soon as I stepped through the door, something felt off.
My foot brushed against something soft, and my heart jumped. I fumbled for the light switch, and when the hallway lit up, I nearly screamed.
There, on the cold floor, were my two boys, Tommy and Alex, tangled up in blankets, fast asleep. Their faces were smudged with dirt, their hair a mess.
“What the…?” I whispered, my mind racing. Why were they sleeping on the floor?
I tiptoed past them, not wanting to wake them until I had some answers. The living room looked like a disaster zone—pizza boxes, soda cans, and melted ice cream littered the coffee table. But there was no sign of Mark.
My heart pounded as I hurried toward our bedroom, only to find it empty. The bed was still made, untouched. Mark’s car was in the driveway, but where was he?
Then I heard it—a muffled sound coming from the boys’ room. I tiptoed closer, my imagination running wild. Was he hurt? Had someone broken in?
I slowly pushed open the door, and what I saw made me furious.
Mark was sitting there, headphones on, glued to a video game, surrounded by energy drink cans and snack wrappers. The boys’ room had been transformed into a gamer’s paradise—LED lights, a massive TV, and a mini-fridge in the corner. He was completely oblivious to the chaos around him.
I stormed over and yanked the headphones off his head. “Mark! What the hell is going on?”
He blinked up at me, dazed. “Oh, hey, babe. You’re home early.”
“Early? It’s midnight! Why are our children sleeping on the hallway floor?”
He shrugged. “The boys thought it was fun, like camping or something.”
“Camping? They’re sleeping on a dirty floor, Mark!” I was livid.
“Relax, Sarah. They’re fine. I’ve been feeding them and everything.”
“Feeding them? You mean pizza and ice cream? And what about baths? Or, I don’t know, their actual beds?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re overreacting. Lighten up a bit.”
That was the last straw. “Lighten up? LIGHTEN UP? Our kids are sleeping on the floor while you play video games all night! This is beyond ridiculous.”
He sighed. “I just needed some me-time, okay?”
I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Put the boys in their beds, Mark. Now.”
He grumbled but got up and carried Tommy to bed. I scooped up Alex, my heart breaking at how dirty his little face was. As I tucked him in, I made a decision: if Mark wanted to act like a child, I’d treat him like one.
The next morning, I put my plan into action. While Mark was in the shower, I unplugged everything in his makeshift man cave. Then, I set up a chore chart on the fridge, complete with gold stars for completing tasks.
When Mark came downstairs, I greeted him with a big smile. “Good morning, sweetie! I made you breakfast!”
He looked suspicious. “Uh, thanks?”
I placed a Mickey Mouse-shaped pancake in front of him, complete with a smiley face made from fruit. His coffee? Served in a sippy cup.
“What’s this?” he asked, poking at the pancake.
“It’s your breakfast, silly! Eat up, we’ve got a big day ahead.”
After breakfast, I unveiled the chore chart. “Look what I made for you!”
Mark’s eyes widened. “What… is that?”
“It’s your very own chore chart! You can earn stars for cleaning up, doing the dishes, and putting away your toys!”
“My toys? Sarah, I’m not a—”
“Language!” I scolded. “And no arguing, or you’ll go to the timeout corner.”
For the next week, I stuck to my guns. Every night at 9 p.m., I’d shut off the Wi-Fi and unplug his gaming console. I even tucked him into bed with a glass of milk and read him Goodnight Moon. His meals were served on plastic plates with dividers, and his sandwiches were cut into fun shapes. When he complained, I’d calmly remind him that “big boys don’t whine.”
The breaking point came when I sent him to the timeout corner for throwing a tantrum about his screen time. He sat there, fuming, while I calmly set the timer.
“This is ridiculous!” he exploded. “I’m a grown man!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because grown men don’t make their kids sleep on the floor so they can play video games all night.”
He finally admitted defeat. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m sorry.”
I studied him for a moment. “Oh, I accept your apology. But I’ve already called your mom…”
His face drained of color. “You didn’t.”
Right on cue, there was a knock at the door. Mark’s mom, Linda, marched in, looking furious. “Mark! Did you really make my grandkids sleep on the floor while you played video games?”
Mark looked like he wanted to disappear. “Mom, it’s not… I didn’t mean…”
Linda turned to me. “Sarah, dear, I’m so sorry. I thought I raised him better.”
I patted her arm. “It’s not your fault, Linda. Some boys just take longer to grow up than others.”
Mark, red-faced, muttered, “I’m 35 years old.”
Linda ignored him. “Well, I’m staying for a week to get this house in order.”
Mark looked utterly defeated. “Sarah,” he said quietly, “I’m really sorry. I was selfish. It won’t happen again.”
I smiled and gave him a quick kiss. “I know. Now, go help your mom with the dishes. Maybe we can have ice cream for dessert if you do a good job.”
As Mark trudged off, I couldn’t help but feel a little smug. Lesson learned—at least, I hoped so. And if not, well, I still had the timeout corner ready and waiting.