There’s nothing like coming home after a long work trip—except when you find your kids treated like second-class citizens in their own home. That’s exactly what happened when I returned to discover my sons sleeping in the hallway while my husband had turned their bedroom into his personal gaming paradise.
The scene was something out of a bad sitcom. My boys, ages six and eight, curled up on the floor with makeshift pillows. The living room looked like a food bomb had gone off. And Mark? Oblivious in what used to be the kids’ room, now decked out with every gaming accessory imaginable.
His nonchalant “Hey babe” when I finally got his attention made my blood boil. Our children were literally sleeping in the hallway so he could play video games, and he acted like it was no big deal.
What followed was the most satisfying week of my marriage. I became the ultimate mom—to my husband. Chore charts. Early bedtimes. Even calling his mother to give him a proper scolding. Sometimes the only way to teach a lesson is to speak someone’s language—in this case, treating him exactly like the child he was acting.
