I left my husband, Mark, with the kids for a week-long trip, thinking everything would be fine. But when I came home, I found my boys sleeping on the cold hallway floor. Something was wrong.

I checked the house and found Mark in the boys’ room, surrounded by energy drink cans and snacks, playing video games with headphones on.

The room looked like a gamer paradise—complete with a mini-fridge. When I confronted him, he dismissed my concerns,

saying the kids were “having an adventure” sleeping on the floor.

Angry, I decided to teach him a lesson. I unplugged everything in his man cave, then served him a childlike breakfast—Mickey

Mouse-shaped pancakes in a sippy cup. I presented him with a chore chart and new house rules: all screens off by 9 p.m. sharp,

and if he misbehaved, a timeout corner. I stuck to my plan, even giving him dinosaur-shaped sandwiches and praising him like a child for every little task.

The breaking point came when Mark threw a tantrum about his screen time. I calmly reminded him that “grown men” don’t make their

kids sleep on the floor. He apologized, but I wasn’t done yet. I called his mom to come over, and she arrived to

scold him in front of me. She promised to “whip him into shape” and I couldn’t help but feel a little smug.

By the end, Mark genuinely apologized, and I felt he understood. I told him the boys needed a father, not another playmate.

Hopefully, the lesson stuck—though I always had the timeout corner ready just in case.