I returned from a weeklong business trip, eager to see my sons, Tommy and Alex. At ages six and eight, they must have been bouncing off the walls waiting for me. As for Mark, my husband, I figured he’d be more than ready to hand over the reins. He’s a great dad, but he’s always been more of the “fun” parent than the responsible one.
Pulling into the driveway around midnight, I couldn’t help but smile. The house was dark and quiet—just as it should be at that hour.
With my suitcase and jingling keys in hand, I quietly unlocked the front door and stepped inside, ready to collapse into bed. But something immediately felt wrong.
I froze when my foot bumped into something soft. Heart racing, I reached for the light switch—and nearly gasped when the hallway lit up.
Tommy and Alex were sprawled out on the floor, tangled up in blankets like a couple of puppies. They were fast asleep, but their faces were dirty, and their hair was a mess.
“What the heck?” I muttered, my mind reeling. Had there been a fire? A gas leak? Why weren’t they in their beds?
I crept past them, careful not to wake them until I figured out what was going on. The living room was a disaster—pizza boxes, soda cans, and what looked like melted ice cream were everywhere. But Mark was nowhere to be seen.
My heart pounded harder as I went to our bedroom. Empty. The bed looked untouched. Mark’s car was in the driveway, so where was he?
That’s when I heard it—a faint, muffled sound coming from the boys’ room. My imagination ran wild as I cautiously approached the door. Was Mark hurt? Had an intruder broken in?
I slowly pushed the door open and bit my tongue to keep from yelling.
There was Mark, completely absorbed in a video game, controller in hand, headphones on, surrounded by snack wrappers and empty energy drink cans. But that wasn’t even the most shocking part.
The boys’ room had been transformed into a gamer’s paradise—flashing LED lights, a massive TV on one wall, and what looked like a mini-fridge in the corner.
I stood there, my mouth hanging open, anger bubbling up inside me. Mark was so immersed in his game that he hadn’t even noticed me.
I stormed over and yanked off his headphones. “Mark! What is going on here?”
He blinked at me, dazed. “Oh, hey, sweetie. You’re home early.”
“Early? It’s midnight! Why are our kids sleeping on the hallway floor?”
He shrugged and picked up his controller again. “Oh, it’s fine. The boys were having fun. They thought it was an adventure.”
I grabbed the controller from him. “An adventure? Mark, they’re not camping! They’re sleeping on the cold hallway floor like animals!”
He rolled his eyes. “Relax, Sarah. They’re fine. I’ve been feeding them and everything.”
“Feeding them? You mean the pizza and ice cream all over the living room?” My blood was boiling. “Did you even make sure they took baths? Or, I don’t know, slept in their actual beds?”
Mark sighed. “They’re okay, really. Lighten up a little.”
That’s when I lost it.
“Lighten up? LIGHTEN UP? Our kids are sleeping in the hallway while you’re playing video games in their room! What is wrong with you?”
“I just needed some time for myself,” he grumbled. “Is that so bad?”
I inhaled deeply, trying to stay calm. “You know what? We’re not having this conversation right now. Get the boys into their beds. Now.”
“But I’m in the middle of—”
“Mark. Now!”
Grumbling, he picked up Tommy and carried him to his bed. I scooped up Alex, whose dirty face made my heart ache. I realized then—I needed to take charge if Mark was going to act like a child.
The next morning, I enacted my plan. While Mark showered, I snuck into his makeshift “man cave” and unplugged everything. Then I got to work.
When he came downstairs, I greeted him cheerily. “Good morning, my love! I made you breakfast.”
He looked suspicious. “Thanks?”
I set a plate in front of him: a Mickey Mouse pancake with a fruit smiley face and a sippy cup of coffee.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Your breakfast, silly! We have a big day ahead.”
I showed him the giant, colorful chore chart I’d made and stuck to the fridge. “Look! You have your own list of chores! Dishes, cleaning your room, putting away your toys—each task earns you a gold star!”
“My toys?” he muttered. “Sarah…”
“Oh, and remember—new house rule: screens off by 9 p.m. That includes your phone.”
Mark’s face turned from confusion to disbelief. “You’re joking, right? I’m an adult—”
“Ah, ah, ah! Back talk will earn you a trip to the timeout corner,” I said with a wag of my finger.
For the next week, I enforced the new rules. I unplugged his game system, cut the Wi-Fi at 9 p.m., served meals on plastic plates with compartments, and offered him animal crackers for snacks. I even read him bedtime stories like “Goodnight Moon” and made sure to tuck him in with a glass of milk.
Every time he completed a chore, I praised him exaggeratedly. “Wow, look at you putting your laundry away! Mommy’s so proud!”
Mark gritted his teeth. “I’m not a child, Sarah.”
“Of course not, honey,” I said sweetly. “Now, who wants to help bake cookies?”
The breaking point came about a week later. After throwing a tantrum about his screen time limit, Mark was sulking in the timeout corner. I quietly set a timer.
“This is ridiculous!” he shouted. “I’m an adult!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because grown-ups don’t make their kids sleep on the floor so they can play video games all night.”
He finally deflated. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m sorry.”
I gave him a long look. “I appreciate the apology. But just so you know, I called your mother.”
His face drained of color. “You didn’t.”
Right on cue, there was a knock at the door. It was Mark’s mom, looking equal parts disappointed and determined.
“Mark!” she scolded as she came inside. “You let my grandbabies sleep on the floor so you could play games all night?”
Mark tried to explain, but she wasn’t having it.
“I’m so sorry you had to deal with this, Sarah,” she said, patting my arm. “I thought I raised him better.”
I smiled at her. “It’s not your fault, Linda. Some men just take a little longer to grow up.”
Mark’s face turned red. “Mom, I’m thirty-five!”
Linda turned back to me. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a free schedule this week. I’ll whip this boy back into shape!”
I glanced at Mark, who looked utterly defeated. “I’m really sorry, Sarah,” he mumbled. “I was careless. I’ll do better.”
I softened a little. “I know, love. But I need to be sure you’ve got things under control when I’m away. The boys need a dad, not another playmate.”
Mark nodded sheepishly. “You’re right. I’ll be better.”
I gave him a quick kiss. “Good. Now go help your mother with the dishes. If you’re good, maybe we’ll have ice cream for dessert.”
As he shuffled to the kitchen, I couldn’t help but feel a little smug. Hopefully, he’d finally learned his lesson. But just in case, I still had that timeout corner waiting.