After a week away, I returned home to an unsettling sight: my kids, Tommy and Alex, were sleeping on the cold hallway floor. My heart raced as I searched for answers, finding our living room in disarray with pizza boxes and soda cans, but no sign of my husband, Mark.

I heard strange noises from the kids’ room and opened the door to find Mark, headphones on, surrounded by snack wrappers and energy drink cans. The boys’ room had been transformed into a gamer paradise, complete with a giant TV and LED lights. Mark hadn’t noticed me, absorbed in his game.

Furious, I yanked off his headphones. “Mark, what is going on? Our children are on the floor while you game?”

He shrugged, dismissing my concern. “The boys thought it was an adventure. They’re fine.”

I was livid. “They’re not camping; they need proper care and their beds!”

The next morning, I put my plan into action. While Mark showered, I unplugged his gaming setup and set up a chore chart with gold stars for him. Breakfast featured a Mickey Mouse pancake and his coffee in a sippy cup. I also enforced a 9 p.m. screen time rule, tucking him in like a child.

When Mark threw a tantrum, I called his mother. She arrived, disapproving, and took over the household duties. Mark, looking defeated, apologized. I reassured him, “I need to know you’re responsible when I’m away. We’ll work on this together.”