Wii wii wii all the way home

We now have a Wii. Or should I say more correctly that the Wii has us. By the proverbial short and curlies. Now I have been anti computer games for most of my life. As far as I was concerned my children would have to be in their late teens before I acquiesced to purchase them a mind-numbing, muscle dysmorphing computer game. But alas, in the constant compromising and selling out that is parenthood (at least in my case) we got a Wii. Really I just wanted the Wii Fit, in a delusional thought that I would be able to get fit 'in the comfort of my own home' rather than try to go walking with a 2 & 4 year old in tow. Of course, the reality is so vastly different from the dream. I have exercised twice in the month we’ve had it, yet the Wii has kindly advised that we (primarily the 4 year old) has now played Super Mario Bros Kart 600 times. I’m not sure whether they are congratulating us for that or admonishing me for allowing my son to play their game so many times. It could very well be the latter. The Wii Fit is astonishingly passive aggressive. Really , it is.

The second time I managed to wangle myself an hour on the Wii Fit one of the first messages was ‘Hooli (my Mii), have you been busy?’ Translation: it’s been a week you slack bitch, where have you been? And any time that you end an exercise session early you get a ‘hooli, is there something wrong’ – so not only are you remonstrated for not finishing what you’ve started, you now feel bad for hurting the Wii’s feelings! Like they have any! Seriously,you might as well get a Catholic priest or a Rabbi to be your personal trainer if you want to be motivated by that level of guilt. And the rating system is also fantastic for your self-esteem (just as catholicism is, not!). Apparently my ability to hoola hoop, follow a step routine, and knock out a punching bag is rated at a level called 'simmering fire'. This would be fine as a porn name or lap dancer name (now there's a new Wii Fit game potential, along with pole dancing ... hmmmm) - but as a level of skill it leaves a little to be desired. I wonder what the top level is? 'Catastrophic Fireball'?

Wii’s are a very good way of determining if your child(ren) have addictive personalities. There are many signs. If you are awoken pre-dawn by a little voice in your ear saying ‘please Mummy, can I play Mario’ then you have an addict on your hands (as well as an insomniac). If a voice comes from the backseat when you are driving and tells you to mount the kerb and hit the wheelie bin because it will earn you 10 points, then you have an addict. If they count down 3,2,1 Go at traffic lights you have an addict. You might as well enrol them in rehab now.

But I confess that the addiction doesn’t stop with the kids. One reason (that I’m sticking to) for not using the Wii Fit more often is that the room in which we have it doesn’t have enough space. I am constantly having to move the balance board to accommodate the activity. If the exercise requires hands in the air I have to manoeuvre the board away from the low lying ceiling fan (admittedly I am partial to my fingers remaining attached to my hands). If the exercise requires lying down, I have to move it away from the walls. The sign of addiction? Not only completely rearranging the furniture in the room to accommodate the Wii but rearranging rooms throughout your house. And then considering that maybe you’ll have to move house. It won’t be long till new display homes have ‘Wii Rooms’ as well as the now ubiquitous ‘Theatre Rooms’. Believe me, if you can have display homes with handbasins inbuilt into hallway walls, then ‘Wii Rooms’ aren’t that far fetched. Ridiculous yes, but far-fetched? Probably not.

Housewife? Domestic goddess? Neither?

Is the 'housewife' thing a little misleading? Are you visiting here looking for tips on how to remove rust stains from linen, lipstick stains from collars (and/or how to prevent them getting there to begin with?) and wanting to know how to convince two-year olds that sultanas and extra-strong Parmesan cheese really isn't an ideal afternoon snack (happening as I type... but hey, who am I to strangle burgeoning creativity).

If I can promise you anything at all it is that there are NO answers here.

There will most likely be lots of questions, predominantly stupid ones, often rhetorical, and perhaps, more likely than not, inane. But hey, its my blog, or should that be 'blah-g' and I can rant if I want to. And, as you know, you're likely to have far more important things to do than read guff like this.

As I said, I am a 'qualified' writer. I have the papers to prove it. Somewhere. I know I've packed them - I've seen them recently. The humidity of the tropical weather in which I live has started to peel the letters off . I now seem to be the proud owner of a '_achelo_ of A_ts', which, I grant you, is probably no less worthwhile than the Bachelor of Arts. I really should have had the damn certificates mounted and framed, but hey, who wants the extra dusting... and the constant reminder of an intellect I once had but has now been eked away by childbearing, birthing and breastfeeding.

But now the past has come back to haunt me, as it often does. My 'rationale' in undertaking a writing degree was that it would come in so useful in the deep dark distant future when I had a family of my own. A decision made when I was completely, utterly single without a marriage prospect in sight. The lord himself only knows where that kind of blind optimism has gone now...

Anyway, that time has come. I am now that wife, mother, domestic goddess/walking disaster that I dreamed of and so now I have to re-learn how to write. The sentence construction I'm okay with, the spelling has only slipped a bit - seems a little Freudian (in what way I don't know) that I seem to now confuse right and write. What I have to learn is how to think up stuff to write about, and how to write it so that you'll want to read it - and how to write so that I can whinge and bitch with style and grace and not an inconsiderable amount of humour (I only hope).

This whole blogging (blah-ging) does seem a little self-indulgent (being raised Catholic, anything remotely pleasurable qualifies as self-indulgent) but I'm hoping to scare myself into actually doing the writing. Getting whatever ideas are in my head and onto virtual paper. I need the practice.

So bear with me. Or don't. As I said, your choice. If you are at a loose end, don't completely dislike what I've written so far, and notice I haven't blogged lately - give me a virtual kick up the butt and tell me to get writing.

Cheers!

PS: already I will contradict myself and provide a hint for parents. Do NOT start a blog with a naked toilet-training two year old with free rein of the house. Thankfully most of our home is tiled and what little carpet we do have is brown (serendipitous) but still, explain to me why kids can do on soft furnishings what they can't do on a toilet??? (The questions have started...)