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

My heart sank. Something was off. Where was my husband? I checked our bedroom, but it was empty. At midnight? That’s strange.

I went to the boys’ room, bracing myself. I heard muffled noises. When I peeked inside, I gasped. Mark, wearing headphones, was playing video games, surrounded by energy drink cans and snack wrappers. The room was a chaotic “gamer paradise” with a massive TV, LED lights, and a mini-fridge.

I yanked the headphones off his head. “Mark! What’s going on?”

“Oh, hey babe. You’re home early.”

“Early? It’s midnight! Why are the kids sleeping on the floor?”

“They thought it was an adventure,” he said nonchalantly.

I snapped. “They’re not camping, Mark! They’re sleeping on the dirty hallway floor!”

Mark shrugged. “Lighten up. I’ve been feeding them.”

“Feeding them? Pizza boxes and ice cream?” I was furious. “What about baths or their beds?”

He rolled his eyes. “They’re fine, Sarah. Chill.”

That’s when I lost it. “Our kids are sleeping on the floor while you play games in their room! What is wrong with you?”

“I’m just having some me-time. Is that so bad?” he replied.

I took a deep breath. “Go put them to bed. Now.”

The next morning, I executed my plan. I unplugged everything in his man cave, then greeted him with a big smile. “Good morning! I made you breakfast!”

Suspicious, he sat down. “Uh, thanks?”

I placed a plate of Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes and coffee in a sippy cup. “Eat up! We’ve got a big day!”

I then unveiled a giant chore chart on the fridge. “Look what I made for you!”

Mark stared at it, confused. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s your chore chart! You can earn gold stars for cleaning and doing chores.”

He was baffled. “My toys? Sarah, what—”

“Also, screens off by 9 p.m. sharp. That includes your phone!” I added.

He was getting angry. “I’m a grown man! I don’t need—”

“Ah ah! No arguing, or you’ll go to the timeout corner,” I warned.

For the next week, I stuck to the plan. Every night at 9, I shut off the Wi-Fi and unplugged his gaming console. I even tucked him into bed with a glass of milk, reading “Goodnight Moon.”

The chore chart was the biggest issue. Every time he completed a task, I gave him a gold star. “Look at you, putting away your laundry all by yourself! Mommy’s proud!”

One day, after a tantrum about his screen time limit, Mark exploded. “I’m a grown man!”

“Oh? Are you sure? Because grown men don’t make their kids sleep on the floor so they can play games,” I shot back.

He sighed. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”

I smiled sweetly. “I’ve already called your mom…”

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Mark’s mom marched in, looking disappointed. “Mark! Did you really make my sweeties sleep on the floor?”

Mark was mortified. “Mom, it’s not—”

She turned to me. “Sarah, I’m so sorry. I thought I raised him better.”

I patted her arm. “It’s not your fault. Some boys take longer to grow up.”

Mark, red-faced, muttered, “I’m 35, Mom.”

Linda ignored him and turned to me. “Don’t worry. I’ll whip him into shape!”

Mark looked defeated. “I’m sorry. I was selfish.”

I softened. “I need to know you’ve got things under control when I’m away. The boys need a father, not a playmate.”

He nodded. “You’re right. I’ll do better.”

I smiled and kissed him. “I know you will. Now go help your mom with the dishes. Maybe we’ll have ice cream for dessert.”

As Mark trudged off, I couldn’t help but feel a little smug. Lesson learned, I hoped. And if not, well, I still had that timeout corner.