I left my husband, Mark, alone with the kids for a week, thinking everything would be fine. When I returned, I found my boys asleep on the cold hallway floor. Alarmed, I checked the house. Mark wasn’t in bed, but I heard noises from the boys’ room.
Peeking inside, I gasped. Mark was in a gaming paradise—surrounded by energy drinks, snacks, and a massive TV—while our kids slept in the hallway. When I confronted him, he nonchalantly said, “The boys were happy, they thought it was an adventure.”
Frustrated, I devised a plan. The next morning, I greeted Mark with a childlike breakfast and introduced a chore chart. “All screens off by 9 p.m. sharp!” I said. Mark was furious but had no choice.
After a week of this, Mark cracked. Apologizing, he said, “I’m sorry, I was selfish.”
But I wasn’t done. I had already called his mom. When she arrived, Mark’s embarrassment was complete. She promised to whip him into shape.
Mark apologized again, and I softened. “The boys need a father, not another playmate,” I said. He agreed, and I felt smug. Lesson learned—hopefully.
