After a week away, I returned home to find my kids asleep on the cold hallway floor. My husband, Mark, was nowhere in sight, and strange noises came from the boys’ room. What I discovered left me furious.
Mark had turned their room into a gamer’s paradise, headphones on, surrounded by snack wrappers, oblivious to the fact that our children were sleeping in the hallway. When I confronted him, he shrugged it off, insisting it was “an adventure.”
Fuming, I decided to teach him a lesson. The next morning, I served his breakfast on a Mickey Mouse plate and introduced him to a chore chart. I enforced bedtime, screen time limits, and even tucked him in at night with a bedtime story.
After a week of this treatment, Mark snapped, insisting he was a grown man. I simply reminded him that grown men don’t neglect their kids for video games. Then, for the final blow, I called his mother.
When she arrived, disappointment written all over her face, Mark looked mortified. “Mom, please,” he begged. But Linda was ready to set him straight.
Finally, he admitted his mistake. “I was selfish and irresponsible. I’ll do better.”
“Good,” I said, softening. “The boys need a father, not another child.”
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