Being away from home for a week felt like an eternity. I was so eager to return to my boys, who had been left in their dad’s care while I was gone.

My husband is a wonderful man. He is the fun parent, while I typically ensure that the house rules are observed and routines are followed.

Still, I had full confidence that he’d do a good job keeping them well-fed and everything else in check.

Upon finally arriving home, I was careful not to wake Tommy and Alex as I quietly slipped in, my keys jingling softly in hand.

Reaching the hallway, I unexpectedly stumbled upon something squishy, causing my heart to race. Fumbling for the light switch, I was met with a sight that nearly had me fainting.

There they were, my boys, asleep right in the hallway.

Faces smudged with dirt, hair standing every which way, they lay tangled in blankets like adorable little puppies.

“What on earth is happening here?” I wondered, hesitantly stepping toward the living room.

Initially, my thoughts went to the worst: fire, a gas leak, maybe even a burglary. But the scattered debris in the living room told a different story and confirmed my suspicions—my husband had orchestrated this mess. The room was strewn with empty pizza boxes and soda cans, while melted ice cream smeared the coffee table. And Mark, my husband, was nowhere in sight.

Upon peeking into the bedroom, it was clear nobody had slept there that day.

Strange noises were emanating from the children’s room, pushing my imagination to the brink of wildness. Opening the door, I was amazed by what I found.

There was Mark, controller in hand, headphones securely in place, basking in his own gaming haven. He had transformed the kids’ room into a man cave, complete with a monstrous TV mounted on the wall and LED lights streaming from every corner.

Mark was so caught up in his video game that he didn’t even notice me standing there.

My anger swelled within me like a volcano on the brink of eruption.

“Mark, what is going on here? Have you lost your mind?” I shouted.

Startled, he looked up, “Oh, baby, you’re home early,” he remarked.

“Early!? It’s nearly midnight!” I replied, keeping my voice low to avoid waking the children.

“Why are Tommy and Alex sleeping in the hallway?” I questioned, my voice tinged with fury.

“Sweetheart, don’t stress over them. They’re just having a camping adventure,” he joked.

“Really, Mark? Do you even hear yourself?” I tried to comprehend his trivializing response.

“It’s fine. I’ve managed to feed them and everything,” he insisted.

“Feed them? On what? Pizza and soda!? Oh, Mark, I thought you knew better!” I exclaimed, suppressing the tears of frustration from his lack of understanding.

“You’re overreacting, Sarah, it’s not a big deal,” he retorted, trying to lighten the situation with a dismissive wave.

That was the moment I realized I’d reached my limit.

“Get the kids up! Right now,” I demanded. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? They’re sleeping like animals out there while you hit the high scores on your game.”

I reached for the controller, but Mark tried to hang on, “I’m mid-game, Sarah. Let them be, it’s what they wanted. And I needed some alone time, surely you get that?”

With enough determination, I snatched the controller away, insisting he move the boys to their beds.

Seeing Tommy and Alex’s dirty faces made me realize he probably hadn’t bathed them all week. They looked helpless, my poor little boys.

Suddenly, I found myself managing not just the kids, but a husband acting like one.

Once everyone was settled, I showered and went to bed, not wanting to continue the argument with Mark that night.

In the morning, however, I planned to make sure he learned a lesson.

When he woke up and wandered into the kitchen, I greeted him with the brightest smile, “Good morning, darling,” I chimed, “here’s your breakfast.”

Clearly bemused, given that he expected my anger to simmer longer, I had a different plan, one to open his eyes.

I served him pancakes with smiley faces on a Mickey Mouse plate, tipping him off that this was more than a peace offering.

Post-breakfast, I unveiled a vibrant chore chart stuck on the fridge, “Check this out,” I said, “you’ll earn a gold star for every task completed, like doing dishes or tidying up.”

“My…toys? Sarah, what do you mean…”

Before he could finish, I added, “Also, new rule: no screens after 9 pm from now on.”

For an entire week, I switched off the Wi-Fi after 9 pm, watching Mark’s frustration build.

His meals came as dinosaur-shaped sandwiches and snacks in children’s dishes. I treated him like a kid because he’d acted like one.

Each time he completed a chore, I made a grand gesture of awarding him a star, “Nice work, sweetie, mommy’s super proud,” I’d tease.

Mark was certainly aware of his missteps that led to our boys bedding down in the hallway and felt remorseful for how he spent that week.

“Sarah, I’m truly sorry. I realize I was wrong. It will never happen again,” he admitted, appearing truly contrite.

Recognizing Mark’s sincerity, I forgave him, reminding him our boys needed a father, not another playbuddy.