Business trips are exhausting, but nothing prepared me for what I walked into at midnight last Thursday. My two young sons were fast asleep—not in their beds, but on the cold hallway floor. My stomach dropped. Where was my husband? Why weren’t the kids in their room?
The house looked like a frat party aftermath. Empty pizza boxes, sticky soda cans, and what I’m pretty sure was a melted popsicle on the couch. Then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of video game gunfire coming from the boys’ bedroom.
I pushed the door open to find Mark in full gamer mode, surrounded by snacks and energy drinks. The room had been completely overhauled with a giant TV, neon lights, and even a mini-fridge. Our children’s beds? Nowhere in sight.
His excuse? “The boys thought it was an adventure.” An adventure? Sleeping on hardwood floors while dad plays Call of Duty?
The next week became Operation Treat-Him-Like-The-Child-He-Is. Gold stars for chores. Screen time limits. Bedtime stories. When he finally broke down and apologized, I knew my point had been made—parenting isn’t a part-time job.
