My Husband Refused to Help with the Kids—So I Taught Him a Lesson
My Husband Refused to Help with the Kids Because He ‘Works All Day’ — So I Gave Him a Day off He’ll Never Forget
Retaliation is said to be best served cold, but mine was accompanied by toddler tantrums and infant spit-up. My husband said that I “do nothing all day,” so I gave him the leisurely day at home that he believed I enjoyed. He wasn’t prepared for what transpired after I vanished for twelve hours.
Most people are asleep at 5:30 a.m. However, it marks the start of my day for me.
It’s not a conscious decision. My eight-month-old human alarm clock, Lily, has determined that’s when the world ought to awaken, which is why.
Four-year-old Noah usually stutters into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and demanding chocolate chip pancakes by the time I’ve changed her diaper, made her a bottle, and placed her in the bouncer.
I gently tell him, “Not today, buddy,” as I place a dish of porridge with banana slices in front of him. “How about we save those for the weekend?”
As I unload the dishwasher with my free hand and balance Lily on my hip, Noah pouts but accepts the arrangement.
My everyday performance as a stay-at-home mother begins with this morning acrobatic routine.
Unfortunately, none of this is visible to my husband, Mark. I’ve already made it through an hour of mayhem by the time he comes out of the bedroom wearing his clean button-down shirt and pants.
By 7 a.m., he simply gets his coffee, bids farewell, and walks out of the home.
Even worse, he doesn’t thank me for all of my hard work. He didn’t care that I was at home with two kids under five, dealing with tantrums, mountains of laundry, and constant chaos.
Mark claims that he believed he was the only person who worked all day. And me? My existence seemed to him to be one big, lazy break.
He would smirk and kick his feet up after work while I packed Noah’s lunch for the following day and showered the kids. “Must be nice to stay in pajamas and hang out with the kids all day,” he would say.
As if I had the mental capacity to enjoy comedy after 12 hours of nonstop babysitting, he would periodically show me a humorous meme while scrolling through his phone.
And when I requested assistance? It was always the same answer.
“Today, I’ve already worked. You don’t see me requesting that you replace me at work.”
The man was a delusional person. Totally unaware of the realities of arguing with a four-year-old about why we couldn’t have ice cream for breakfast and concurrently stopping an eight-month-old from eating strange items she discovered on the floor, he assumed my day consisted of Netflix and playdates.
The last straw, though? Mark turned to face me one evening after I had finally gotten the kids down and flopped down on the couch.
His words, “You’re always so tired lately,” “From what?”
Oh.
Oh.
I realized then that it was time for Mark to have the “break” he believed I so richly deserved.
A week passed while I waited. remained silent. continued to smile. continued carrying out all of the routine tasks, such as cooking, cleaning, story time, bath time, and the never-ending cycle of snacks and diapers.
when I was creating my plan.
I then gave him a sticky note with a date underlined in red ink on Sunday night.
“What’s this?” he inquired, giving it a curious glance.
“Your day off,” I remarked kindly as I folded laundry on the couch next to him. “You never stop telling me how fortunate I am. So it’s all yours on Saturday of next week. You’re getting exactly what you deserve from me.”
Mark smiled. “At last! Thank you. I could watch the game and unwind for a day.”
He believed I was offering him a day at the spa or some such tranquil retreat. Without correcting his assumption, I grinned.
I had no intention of what he thought.
I was awake before the alarm on Saturday morning.
The previous evening, I had packed a tiny bag and concealed it in my car’s trunk. I gently put on my clothes, put on a little makeup, and said goodbye to both children when I heard Lily whimper for the first time on the baby monitor.
“They’re all yours,” I informed Mark, who was still only partially conscious.
“Wait, what?” He sat up and blinked quickly when Lily’s whimpers became full-fledged sobs.
I declared, “I’m off for the day,” “Enjoy!”
Ignoring his bewildered cries behind me, I then left the room.
My sister gave me a certificate for a spa last Christmas, so I spent the day there while Mark was balancing diapers and tantrums around snack time. A lengthy, quiet meal that I didn’t have to enjoy with a toddler, a manicure, a facial, a full body massage, and a snooze in a lounge chair by the pool in the afternoon.
No “Mommy, I need…” was within earshot.
I left him with two children, a to-do list, a precise schedule tacked to the refrigerator, and meals to cook. I wasn’t entirely ruthless, so I had prepared the majority of them. I could have let him do all the preparations, but I was afraid that if he stayed in the kitchen too long, the children would miss their father.
He had to get Lily to nap at 10 a.m., pick up groceries at 2 p.m., get Noah to soccer practice at 10 a.m., do three loads of washing, and clean up the already-accumulating dishes from breakfast.
And it wasn’t until bedtime that I returned home.
During the first four hours, I didn’t check my phone. It was magnificent. Notifications were on the screen when I eventually looked:
“Where did you put Noah’s soccer cleats?” at 9:15 a.m.
10:32 a.m.: “Lily is crying uncontrollably. What is the meaning of this particular cry?
11:47 a.m.: “The food you prepared is not going to be consumed. What should I do?
At 1:03 p.m.: “The infant refuses to sleep. I’m going crazy.”
2:26 p.m.: “I forgot to pick up groceries. I’m heading there right now. Do we require diapers?
“When are you coming home?” at 3:40 p.m.
At 4:15 p.m.: “Really. Please.
5:38 p.m.: “I apologize for my previous remarks.”
Additionally, his texts had turned into a series of frantic emojis by dinnertime.
I didn’t respond. Not one.
The house looked like a war zone when I eventually walked back in at 7:30 p.m. The scent of a diaper that should have been changed at least an hour ago, toys all over the place, and what looked like pureed carrots smeared on the wall.
Our toddler was half asleep and Mark was sitting in the center of the living room holding him. He appeared to have aged ten years in a day.
His hair was wild, his eyes had black circles beneath them that equaled mine on my worst days, and his shirt was smeared with what I hoped was simply milk.
“So,” I said, gently putting my handbag down. “How was your day off?”
He didn’t even make an effort to explain or defend himself. For what I had done, there was no hatred or anger. Only fatigue and a fresh insight in his eyes.
His words were, “I’m sorry,” “I didn’t know. Absolutely no idea.
Noah shifted gently, stirring but not waking. “How do you accomplish this each day? Even Lily’s nighttime routine was too difficult for me to complete perfectly.
“Years of practice,” I remarked as I took a seat next to him. “And no choice but to figure it out.”
His hand reached for mine. “I swear, I’ll never say your job isn’t real work again,” he added. “What your days were like was beyond me. He trailed off, embarrassed, “I thought.”
I concluded, “You thought I was exaggerating,” for him. “That I was just complaining about nothing.”
He seemed embarrassed as he nodded.
“It’s not nothing,” he acknowledged publicly. “It’s crucial. It never changes. There isn’t a lunch break or even time to use the restroom by yourself.
I couldn’t resist grinning. “Welcome to my world.”
His words, “Your world is insane,” were honest. “I don’t know how you haven’t lost your mind.”
“Who says I haven’t?” I gently chuckled as I removed Noah from his embrace. “Come on, let’s get this one to bed properly.”
The morning after? Before his alarm went off, he and the children got up.
After that, he prepared breakfast while I drank my coffee, relishing the infrequent opportunity to do so when it was still hot. I had nearly forgotten that such a luxury existed.
Before leaving for work, he even started a load of washing.
And ever since, whenever someone made a joke about me “not working,” Mark quickly cut it off.
“Trust me,” he’d reply, “she works harder than anyone I know.”
I didn’t raise my voice. Never got into a fight. I’ve never had to enumerate my daily activities. I simply gave him the reins, left, and let reality take care of the rest.
For those who are curious, I have scheduled another “day off” on the calendar. Yes, I have.
This time, however, Mark proposed that we use professional assistance and turn it into a family day.
It turns out that the best lessons are sometimes the ones that don’t require the use of words.
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