After spending a week away, I returned to a startling scene at home—my children, Tommy and Alex, were curled up on the chilly hallway floor, sound asleep. My heart raced as I searched for explanations, only to discover my husband was nowhere to be found and peculiar sounds were emanating from the boys’ bedroom. What I discovered next left me seething and ready to confront the chaos.
I had been on a business trip for a week, and the anticipation of returning home was immense. My boys, aged 6 and 8, were likely bouncing off the walls in my absence. And Mark? I expected he’d be eager to hand over the parenting reins. He’s a wonderful father, but admittedly more of the playful type than the disciplinarian.
As I pulled into our driveway around midnight, the house was eerily silent and dark, which seemed normal for such a late hour.
With my suitcase in tow, I quietly unlocked the front door and stepped inside, longing for the comfort of my bed. But something felt off right away.
My foot brushed against something unexpectedly soft, and I halted, heart pounding. Flipping on the hallway light, the sight before me nearly made me shout in alarm.
There lay Tommy and Alex, entwined in blankets on the floor, their faces dirty and hair tousled wildly. «Why on earth?» I muttered under my breath, bewildered. Was there an emergency? Why weren’t they in their beds?
Treading carefully past them, I entered the living room only to find a mess of pizza boxes, soda cans, and remnants of what seemed like a melted ice cream feast on the coffee table. Still no sign of Mark.
Feeling a mix of anxiety and anger, I checked our bedroom—empty. The bed was untouched. With Mark’s car outside, where could he be?
Then I heard it—a soft, muffled noise coming from the boys’ room. Nervous thoughts raced through my mind. Was Mark in trouble? Had an intruder taken him hostage? Slowly, I pushed open the door to their room and…
«Unbelievable,» I whispered, clamping my mouth shut to avoid waking the boys. Mark was lost in a video game, headphones on, oblivious to the world, surrounded by a sea of snack trash and energy drink cans. But it wasn’t just the mess; the room was decked out like a gamer’s haven, complete with a huge TV and LED lights, and yes, a mini-fridge in the corner.
My jaw dropped as I stormed over and pulled off his headphones. «Mark! What on earth is this?»
He looked up, blinking confusedly. «Hey, you’re back early.»
«Early? It’s midnight! Why are our kids on the hallway floor?»
He nonchalantly reached for his controller. «Oh, they thought it was fun, like an adventure, sleeping out here.»
I grabbed the controller and snapped, «This is not an adventure, Mark! They’re sleeping on a cold floor!»
«Relax, it’s all good. They’ve been eating and everything,» he replied, trying to lighten the mood.
«Eating? You mean the junk strewn all over the living room?» My frustration was boiling over. «What about proper meals? Baths? Their beds?»
He rolled his eyes. «They’re fine, Sarah. Just chill a bit.»
That was the last straw. «Chill? Our kids are treated like they’re at a sleepover camp while you camp out in their room! This is not okay, Mark!» He protested, «I’m just taking a little time for myself. Is that so wrong?»
I took a deep breath, calming my nerves. «We’re not discussing this now. Go put the boys in their beds. Immediately.»
«But I was—»
«Now, Mark!»
With a grumble, he stood up and shuffled past me, heading to carry out my demand.
As Mark gently carried Tommy back to his bed, I couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between them—Tommy, the child, and Mark, who seemed to embody a child’s demeanor at times.
I lifted Alex into my arms, dismayed at the sight of his grimy face. As I settled him into his bed, I resolved to make a change. If Mark was going to behave like a child, then I’d treat him as one.
My resolve solidified into a plan the very next morning. While Mark showered, I ventured into his makeshift den and disconnected everything. My preparations didn’t stop there.
When he emerged, his hair damp, I greeted him with an enthusiastic, «Good morning, sweetie! Breakfast is ready!»
Eyeing me warily, he responded, «Uh, thanks?»
I presented him with a breakfast plate adorned with a pancake shaped like Mickey Mouse, complete with a fruity smile. Beside it, his coffee awaited in a child’s sippy cup. «What’s this?» he inquired, eyeing the arrangement.
«Just your breakfast! Eat up—we’ve got a busy day!» I chirped.
Post-breakfast, I revealed my pièce de résistance—a vibrant, oversized chore chart on the refrigerator. «Look what I’ve made!»
Mark stared, bewildered. «What is this?»
«Watch your language,» I chided, «It’s your chore chart! You get gold stars for tasks like cleaning your room, washing dishes, and tidying your toys!»
«My toys? Sarah, what is this—»
I interrupted, firm but cheerful. «Remember, all screens off by 9 p.m., that includes your phone!»
Mark’s confusion turned to frustration. «You can’t be serious? I’m an adult. I don’t need—»
«Tut-tut,» I interjected, wagging my finger. «No backtalk, or it’s straight to the timeout corner for you!»
I maintained this new regime strictly. Every evening at 9, the Wi-Fi was off and the gaming console unplugged.
I even went so far as to tuck him in with a warm glass of milk and read «Goodnight Moon» in my calmest, most maternal tone.
His meals were whimsically served on partitioned plastic plates. I shaped his sandwiches into dinosaurs and doled out animal crackers for snacks. Whenever he voiced displeasure, I’d gently chide, «Use your words, honey. Big boys don’t fuss.» The chore chart became a central theme. Each time he completed a task, I celebrated with an ostentatious awarding of a gold star. «Look at you, managing your laundry all on your own! Mommy’s so proud!»
He’d clench his jaw and murmur, «Sarah, I’m not a child.»
To which I’d soothingly respond, «Of course, you’re not, sweetie. Now, who’s up for baking cookies?»
The tipping point arrived about a week into my homegrown campaign. After placing Mark in the timeout corner for raging over his restricted screen time, I set the kitchen timer as he stewed in silence. «This is absurd!» he burst out. «I’m an adult, for heaven’s sake!»
I arched an eyebrow. «Really? Because last I checked, adults don’t make their kids sleep on a cold floor to indulge in late-night gaming.»
He seemed to shrink a bit. «Alright, alright, I see your point! I’m sorry!»
I regarded him for a moment, sensing his sincere regret, but I had one more card to play.
«I appreciate your apology,» I said sweetly. «And so will your mother…» His complexion paled. «You didn’t.»
Just then, a knock echoed through the room. I swung the door open to reveal Mark’s mother, her expression one of stern disappointment.
«Mark!» she stormed in. «Did you really let my grandkids sleep on the floor while you played your games?»
Mark squirmed. «Mom, it’s not like that… I mean, it wasn’t…»
She turned to me, her demeanor softening. «Sarah, dear, I’m so sorry you had to handle this alone. I thought I taught him better.»
I touched her arm reassuringly. «It’s not your fault, Linda. Some men just mature slower than others.» Mark’s face turned a shade of crimson. «Mom, I’m 35!»
Linda brushed off his protest, facing me again. «Don’t worry. I’ve cleared my schedule for the next week. I’ll get him back on track in no time!»
As Linda headed to the kitchen, lamenting the messy state of affairs, I exchanged a glance with Mark. He appeared completely chastened.
«Sarah,» he said softly. «I really am sorry. I was thoughtless and irresponsible. It won’t happen again.»
I softened my stance slightly. «I know, dear. But when I’m away, I need you to be responsible. Our boys need a dad, not a playmate.» He nodded, his remorse evident. «You’re right. I’ll improve. I promise.» I smiled and pecked his cheek. «I believe you will. Now, go help your mom with those dishes. If you do well, maybe there’s ice cream in our future.»
As Mark headed to the kitchen, I felt a tinge of satisfaction. Hopefully, the lesson was learned. If not, the timeout corner was always there, ready if needed.
