When I returned home from a week-long trip, I was met with a shocking sight: my kids sleeping on the chilly hallway floor. My heart racing, I searched for answers, only to discover my husband, Mark, had transformed their room into a gaming paradise.
I had been away for a week, and I couldn’t wait to reunite with my family. But as I entered our home, I sensed something was off. The hallway was dark, and my kids, Tommy and Alex, were curled up on the floor, surrounded by blankets.
As I made my way to our bedroom, I noticed the living room was a mess, with pizza boxes and soda cans scattered everywhere. Mark was nowhere to be found, but I heard strange noises coming from the kids’ room.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I slowly opened the door to find Mark amidst empty energy drink cans and snack wrappers, wearing headphones and holding a controller. The room had been converted into a gamer’s haven, complete with an enormous TV and LED lights.
My anger boiled over as I realized our kids had been sleeping on the floor while Mark indulged in his gaming obsession. I snatched the headphones from his head, demanding to know what was going on.
Mark’s nonchalant response fueled my frustration. “The kids were fine sleeping outside; they thought it was an adventure,” he said. But I knew our children deserved better than to sleep on the floor like animals.
The argument escalated, with Mark insisting he was providing for them. I countered, “Providing for them? With ice cream and pizza cartons? What about their beds, or a bath?”
That’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands. I would treat Mark like a child since that’s how he was behaving.
The next morning, I unplugged his gaming system and presented him with a Mickey Mouse-shaped pancake and a sippy cup of coffee. I also created a chore chart, complete with gold stars for completed tasks.
For the next week, I enforced a strict routine: no screens after 9 p.m., and Mark had to earn his gold stars. I even read him “Goodnight Moon” and gave him milk before bed.
Mark’s frustration grew, but I stood firm. It wasn’t until I called his mother, Linda, that he finally apologized and promised to change.
Linda arrived, ready to take Mark in hand, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Mark had learned a valuable lesson: our kids needed a father, not another playmate.
As Mark helped his mother with the dishes, I smiled, knowing I had taken back control. “Perhaps we can have ice cream for dessert if you behave,” I said, and Mark nodded, embarrassed but grateful for a second chance.
