After being away for a week, I came home to the strange and worrying sight of my kids sleeping on the cold hallway floor. My heart racing, I tried to figure out what was going on, only to realize my husband was missing, and I heard weird noises coming from the kids’ room. What I found next made me angry and ready to confront someone! I had been on a business trip for a week, and I couldn’t wait to get back. My boys, Tommy and Alex, were probably super excited for my return. A week feels like a long time when you’re 6 and 8. And Mark? I thought he’d be more than happy to let me take over again.
He’s a great dad, don’t get me wrong, but he’s always been more about fun than responsibility. When I pulled into the driveway at midnight, I óexpect at that time of night. I grabbed my suitcase and quietly made my way to the front door, my keys jingling softly. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, ready to fall into bed. But something felt off. My foot hit something soft, and I froze. My heart racing, I reached for the light switch. When the hallway lit up, I almost screamed. Tommy and Alex were asleep on the floor, wrapped in blankets like puppies. Their faces were dirty, and their hair was sticking up. “What happened?” I whispered, panicking. Was there a fire? A gas leak? Why weren’t they in bed? I quietly stepped past them, not wanting to wake them until I knew what was going on.
The living room was a mess, with pizza boxes, soda cans, and what looked like melted ice cream on the coffee table. But no sign of Mark. My heart pounded as I went to our bedroom. It was empty, the bed still made. Mark’s car was in the driveway, so where was he? Then I heard it—faint sounds coming from the boys’ room. I tiptoed over, imagining the worst. Was Mark hurt? Did someone break in?
I slowly opened the door and—“What the heck?” I muttered, remembering the kids were just down the hall. There was Mark, wearing headphones, holding a game controller, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and snack wrappers. But the craziest part? The boys’ room was now a gamer’s paradise. A huge TV covered one wall, LED lights were everywhere, and I’m pretty sure that thing in the corner was a mini-fridge. I stood there, stunned, feeling anger build up inside me like a volcano about to erupt. Mark hadn’t even noticed me, too wrapped up in his game.
I stomped over and yanked the headphones off his head. “Mark! What is going on?” He blinked, confused. “Oh, hey babe. You’re home early.”
“Early? It’s midnight! Why are the kids sleeping on the floor?”
He shrugged and reached for his controller. “Oh, it’s fine. They liked it. They thought it was an adventure.”
I grabbed the controller away. “An adventure? They’re sleeping on the dirty hallway floor, Mark!”
“Come on, don’t be such a buzzkill,” he said, trying to take the controller back. “Everything’s under control. I’ve been feeding them and stuff.”
“Feeding them? You mean the pizza and ice cream in the living room?” I could feel my anger rising. “And what about baths? Or their actual beds?”
Mark just rolled his eyes.
“They’re fine, Sarah. Just relax a bit.” That’s when I lost it. “Relax? RELAX? Our kids are sleeping on the floor like animals while you play video games in their room! What’s wrong with you?” “Nothing’s wrong,” he muttered. “I’m just trying to have some me-time. Is that so bad?” I took a deep breath, trying not to yell. “You know what? We’re not having this argument now. Go put the boys in their beds. Right now.” “But I’m in the middle of—” “NOW, Mark!” He grumbled but got up and walked past me.
I watched as he carried Tommy to bed, and I couldn’t help but think how similar they looked—one an actual child, the other acting like one. I picked up Alex, feeling sad at how dirty his face was. As I tucked him in, I made up my mind. 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 “man cave” and got to work. When he came downstairs, still wet from the shower, I greeted him with a big smile. “Good morning! I made you breakfast!” He looked at me suspiciously. “Uh, thanks?” I placed a Mickey Mouse-shaped pancake with a smiley face in front of him, along with coffee in a sippy cup.
“What’s this?” he asked, poking the pancake. “It’s your breakfast! Now eat up, we have a big day ahead!” After breakfast, I showed him the giant, colorful chore chart I had made and hung on the fridge. “Look at this!” Mark’s eyes widened. “What is that?” “Watch your language!” I scolded. “It’s your own chore chart! You can earn gold stars for things like cleaning your room, doing the dishes, and putting away your toys!”
“My toys? Sarah, what are you—” I cut him off. “Oh, and don’t forget, there’s a new house rule: all screens off by 9 p.m. sharp, including your phone.” Mark’s face went from confused to angry. “Are you serious? I’m an adult, I don’t need—” “Ah, ah, ah!” I wagged my finger. “No arguing, or you’ll go to the timeout corner!”
For the next week, I stuck to my plan. Every night at 9 p.m., I turned off the Wi-Fi and unplugged his game console. I even tucked him into bed with a glass of milk and read him *Goodnight Moon* in my calmest voice. I served his meals on plastic plates with dividers, cut his sandwiches into dinosaur shapes, and gave him animal crackers as snacks. When he complained, I’d say, “Use your words, big boys don’t whine.”
The chore chart became a big deal. Whenever he completed a task, I’d make a big fuss and give him a gold star. “Wow, you put away your laundry all by yourself! I’m so proud!” He’d mutter through gritted teeth, “I’m not a child, Sarah.” I’d respond, “Of course not, sweetie. Now, who wants to help bake cookies?”
The final straw came about a week in. I’d sent Mark to the timeout corner for getting angry about his two-hour screen time limit. He sat there, fuming, while I set the kitchen timer. “This is ridiculous!” he shouted. “I’m an adult, for heaven’s sake!” I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because adults don’t make their kids sleep on the floor so they can play video games all night.”
He sighed, looking defeated. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m sorry!” I looked at him, and he did seem sorry, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook just yet. “I accept your apology,” I said with a smile.
“But I already called your mom…”
The color drained from his face. “You didn’t.”
Right on cue, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to reveal Mark’s mom, looking every bit like a disappointed parent. “Mark!” she shouted, walking into the house. “Did you really make my grandkids sleep on the floor so you could play your video games?”
Mark looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up. “Mom, it’s not… I mean, I didn’t…”
She turned to me, her expression softening. “Sarah, I’m so sorry you had to deal with this. I thought I raised him better.”
I patted her arm. “It’s not your fault, Linda. Some boys just take longer to grow up.”
Mark’s face turned bright red. “Mom, come on. I’m 35 years old!”
Linda ignored him and turned back to me. “Don’t worry, I’ve cleared my schedule for the week. I’ll get this boy back in shape!” She headed to the kitchen, grumbling about the state of the dishes.
I caught Mark’s eye. He looked completely defeated. “Sarah,” he said quietly. “I really am sorry. I was selfish and irresponsible. It won’t happen again.”
I softened a bit. “I know, but when I’m away, I need to trust that you’ve got things under control. The boys need a father, not just another playmate.”
He nodded, looking ashamed. “You’re right. I’ll do better, I promise.”
I smiled and gave him a quick kiss. “I know you will. Now, why don’t you go help your mom with the dishes? If you do a good job, maybe we can have some ice cream for dessert.”
As Mark headed to the kitchen, I couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. Lesson learned, I hoped. And if not, well, the timeout corner was still ready and waiting.