My Husband and 4 Kids Are Constantly Slacking off Their Chores – This Time I Taught Them a Good Lesson
A mother of four was exhausted from doing all the household chores, despite working longer hours than her husband. She repeatedly begged her kids and husband to help out, but her pleas were often ignored. Eventually, she took matters into her own hands and taught them a lesson for slacking off their chores.
An exhausted mother | Source: Pexels
My name is Sarah, and my life is a whirlwind of real estate deals and family responsibilities. My husband, Mark, works at a shipyard, and we juggle raising four kids: 13-year-old twins Emma and Ethan, 12-year-old Lily, and our 8-month-old baby, Mia. We both work around 50-60 hour weeks, and while Mark gets weekends off, I do not.
A man, a baby, and the mother | Source: Pixabay
For years, I enforced a chore system, teaching our kids to contribute to the household. But since Mia was born, everyone’s efforts have dwindled, Mark included. I often come home to find him on the couch, glued to his phone, while the kids are absorbed in video games or makeup tutorials.
A tired mother asking for help | Source: Pexels
The house isn’t dirty, just cluttered, but the state of the kitchen drives me insane. I’ve repeatedly voiced my frustration, sometimes resorting to drastic measures like cutting off the internet, canceling family trips, grounding the kids, and having heated arguments with Mark.
For instance, one weekend, the kitchen was a battlefield once more, the remnants of dinner scattered across the counters and dishes piled high in the sink. I stood at the doorway, my frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
A kitchen sink full of dishes | Source: Pexels
“Mark, I can’t keep doing this,” I began, my voice trembling with pent-up anger. “Every day I come home to the same mess. What do you even do all day?”
Mark looked up from his phone, his expression a mix of annoyance and guilt. “I work too, Sarah. I’m tired when I get home and would love to just rest on the weekends.”
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “And I’m not? I work just as many hours as you, if not more! But somehow, I am the only one who cares about this house being livable.”
A woman confronting a man | Source: Pexels
Mark’s face hardened. “I do my part. But sometimes I need a break too.”
“A break? You think I don’t need a break?” My voice rose, the edge of my tone sharper. “I can’t even cook dinner without washing a sink full of dishes first. The kids have chores, you have chores, but nothing gets done unless I nag everyone. I’m tired of being the bad guy.”
Mark stood up, his own temper flaring now. “I’m sorry I’m not perfect, okay? Maybe if you didn’t make such a big deal out of every little thing, the kids and I wouldn’t feel so stressed.”
A man and woman arguing | Source: Pexels
My eyes flashed. “Oh, so it’s my fault now? If you’d just step up and parent, maybe I wouldn’t have to be the one holding everything together. I’m exhausted, Mark. This isn’t just about dishes. It’s about respect and responsibility.”
The argument continued, our voices echoing through the house, each word a reminder of the growing chasm between us. On that day, he took care of the dishes and organized the house after our intense arguments but my efforts often yielded short-term improvements that quickly faded away.
A messy house | Source: Pexels
So, yesterday was no different as much as I had expected my husband and kids to at least clean the house. Before heading to work, I reminded them, saying, “You guys better have your chores done by the time I get home.” They responded with the usual, “Yes, ma’am.”
After leaving work, I texted Mark around 4:30 p.m. to ask what they wanted for dinner, and I picked up their requests at the grocery store.
I walked into our home to find the same disheartening scene, a sink overflowing with dishes, a wet load of laundry in the washer, Mark lounging on the couch, and the kids in their rooms.
Laundry in the washing machine | Source: Pexels
I set the groceries on the table, packed a bag for Mia, and told Mark, “Have at it. I’m going to Applebee’s.” He looked up in surprise, but I walked out with Mia without another word. About 20 minutes later, he called.
“I washed the dishes. I’m sorry. I was super tired today.”
“You use that excuse all the time. There are three older kids with chores, and you couldn’t even tell them to do anything?” I shot back, my patience worn thin.
Angry woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying to work on it. Can you just come home? I don’t know how to make this dish,” he pleaded.
I was tired of him behaving like an inexperienced baby yet he was a grown-up.
“It is a complicated dish but you can Google how to make it or find tutorials on YouTube. So, no. I’m sitting at Applebee’s, enjoying my steak and shrimp with Mia. You and the kids can fend for yourselves. Apology or not, I’m not letting you off the hook this time.”
A frustrated woman | Source: Pexels
He had me on speakerphone, and I could hear the kids in the background, chiming in, “Please grab us something from Applebee’s.”
“Absolutely not,” I said firmly and hung up.
When I returned home, the groceries were put away, and the family had settled for grilled cheese and cereal for dinner. The tension in the air was palpable as Mark and the kids sat at the table, their expressions a mix of frustration and resentment.
A girl eating cereal | Source: Freepik
“Everyone should know that this is how it will be every single time you don’t do your chores,” I stated firmly, standing my ground despite the uncomfortable silence that followed.
Mark looked up, his eyes tired but defiant. “Sarah, we get it. But was it really necessary to leave like that? You could have just told us to get it done, and we would have.”
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “I have told you. Over and over again. And nothing changes. I’m tired of being the only one who cares enough to do something about it.”
A couple in disagreement | Source: Pexels
Emma, one of the twins, looked down at her plate, pushing her food around. “Mom, we’re sorry. We didn’t mean to make you so upset.”
Lily, the 12-year-old, chimed in, her voice small. “We didn’t think it was such a big deal. We thought you’d just remind us again.”
The sad twin looking down at her plate | Source: Pexels
I felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside. “It is a big deal. It’s not just about the dishes. It’s about all of us taking responsibility for our home. I need to know that when I come home, I’m not walking into more work yet all you have been doing is sitting around.”
Mark leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “I understand that, Sarah. But maybe we can find a better way to handle this. Storming out isn’t the answer.”
The man at the dining | Source: Pexels
My frustration bubbled up again. “I’ve tried talking, Mark. I’ve tried asking nicely, reminding, and even nagging. Nothing sticks. I needed to show you all that I’m serious.”
He sighed, looking at the kids, then back at me. “Alright. We’ll do better. But can we also agree to talk things through before they get to this point?”
Husband and wife reconciling | Source: Pexels
I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and lingering anger. “Yes, but only if everyone truly steps up. I can’t do this alone.”
The kids nodded solemnly, and Mark reached across the table to take my hand. “We’ll make it work, Sarah. We’ll all try harder.”
A happy household | Source: Pexels
As I stood there, watching my family, I couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s events. Had I gone too far? Maybe. But something had to give. I hoped this would be the wake-up call they needed. Only time would tell if the message had finally sunk in.
My Daughter-in-Law Made Me Choose between Living in Basement or Nursing Home
After Cecile’s husband, Henry, passes on, she seeks solace by moving into her son’s house. But when she gets there, her daughter-in-law makes her choose between their dark and unwelcoming basement and a nursing home. What happens when Cecile decides on another option altogether?
Losing a partner after forty years of marriage is traumatizing. Loneliness is felt immediately, but it becomes all the more consuming as time goes on. When Henry, my husband, died of a heart attack, I felt this sense of loneliness harder than anything else.
The grief took over, and all I wanted was to be around family. I have two sons, Jack and Edward – Edward moved to Oxford straight out of college because he was awarded the opportunity to further his studies. He calls me every evening just to chat about our days. Jack, on the other hand, lives not too far away from me. He is married to Lucy and has a son named after my husband.
So, now that I’m all alone in this big house Henry bought when we were just starting our family, I’ve been trying to decide whether to sell the house or live with Jack, as he offered, or move out by myself.I decided to try living with Jack. It would be the most comforting thing. But little did I know, Lucy had other plans for my accommodation. I asked my niece to pack up the place while I settled into my new home with Jack and his family. So, I was at their doorstep, suitcases at my feet
. Ready to take on the role of a live-in mother and grandmother — taking over the kitchen whenever Lucy needed me. Lucy came to open the door, a mug of coffee in her hand, and told me that their house was bursting at the seams with the limited space and that the only room available was Henry Jr.’s room. But she wasn’t about to upset the room and change it in any way. It was for Henry when he returned from his semester at college. I understood that. It was his space, and I didn’t want to be a burden.
But I had assumed that Jack would have sorted something out for me — he was the one who asked me to move in if I needed it. “Cecile, we’ve got a bit of a space issue, as you can see,” Lucy repeated. “You’ve got two options,” she continued. “There is the basement, or there’s a nursing home. Your call, grandma.” Talk about a rock and a hard place. Now, let me tell you about their basement.
It’s not the basement you may find in some homes — there’s no converted space for gaming, sewing, or arts and crafts. It’s not a den or cozy room for guests. Jack’s basement is more of a cold, humid dungeon with a bedframe that sighed at every move and a mattress with sharp springs. This was not the comfort I needed.”Lucy,” I said, shuffling my weight from one foot to the other.
“I appreciate the options, dear. But I’ll pass on the basement and nursing home combo.” Cue to my son — trying to play the peacemaker. He came up from behind Lucy, his arm around her waist. “Mom, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking when I invited you to stay. Lucy has a point. We’re tight on space. I promise to get some furniture for the basement to make it comfortable for you.” A basement life wasn’t for me. A nursing home wasn’t for me — at least not yet. So, I just took matters into my own hands.
I dragged my suitcases to the car and drove to my niece’s home. I stayed there for a week while looking for a place I could buy. The house was already on the market, and once it was sold, I knew I would have more than enough money to buy a small place for myself. When everything was settled, my niece helped me move in, and I felt empowered. Maybe I didn’t need family as much as I thought I did.
Edward was worried about me being alone, but I reassured him I would be fine. I moved into the new apartment soon after – a cozy one-bedroom, perfect for me and the cat I hoped to adopt. The bonus was that it came fully furnished, so I didn’t have to worry about anything.
Then, Jack phoned and asked me to dinner with him and Lucy. I drove to their home, wondering what they expected from me. We sat down for dinner, and I told them I had bought an apartment and lived there alone. “I thought you were staying with Mia,” Jack said, referring to my niece.”You can’t be serious!” Lucy exclaimed at the same time. “I did stay with Mia until I moved. I needed my own space.”
“You said that you want to be around family, so I offered,” Jack said, turning red. “Yes, but if it meant being shipped off to a nursing home or having to stay in your basement, I think I’m better off alone.” Then, I left. A few weeks later, I adopted my cat. But I also rewrote my will, leaving everything to Edward, who continues putting money into my account every month, even though I told them I didn’t need it.
“A son must help his Mom,” he said. He also asked me if I wanted to move abroad with him — but how could I? I needed to be close to where Henry rests, at least for now. So, from basement dilemmas to a cozy haven of my own, life certainly throws you for a loop. If your child gave you those options, what would you have done? Here’s another story for you: Elizabeth placed her father in a nursing home and never saw him again. She only visited him at his funeral. But the young woman’s karma caught up with her and taught her a harsh lesson when she received a letter from him after his death…
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