The next morning, I served him breakfast on a plastic kiddie plate, complete with a Mickey Mouse pancake and a sippy cup. Then I unveiled his new chore chart and “screen time limits.”
For a full week, I treated him like the overgrown child he was acting like. Bedtime stories, unplugged Wi-Fi, dinosaur-shaped sandwiches — the works. When he threw a tantrum, I sent him to the timeout corner. The final blow? I called his mom.
When she arrived and learned what happened, she tore into him like only a disappointed mother can. Mark turned redder than a stop sign.
Eventually, he apologized — genuinely. “I was selfish,” he admitted. “It won’t happen again.” I forgave him, but I made one thing clear: our kids need a father, not a roommate with a game controller. And if he ever forgets that again… well, the chore chart is still on the fridge.