Work-out clothes on. Remotes juggled.
Let the virtual exercising commence.
<Step on> computerized chipmunk voice commands.
"What was that?! That sounded snotty. Didn’t that sound snotty?"
Six year old spectator shrugs. Measuring begins. Message appears on screen.
<Your weight has increased a little since last time.>
Internal editing in progress. Mustn’t swear, children present.
"So I’m retaining a little water. What’s your point, Board Boy?"
Six year old pipes up, "Why’d you call me Board Boy?"
"I didn’t. I was talking to the Wii."
Six year old shouts to brother, "Mommy is talking to the Wii again!"
Big brother enters, concerned.
"Is it cheating? Because it cheated me yesterday on the Kung-Fu."
He is his mother’s son.
Mii character on screen swells as body mass index is calculated.
"Mommy, why is your Mii so fat?" The six year old again.
Internal editing in progress. Mustn’t tell offspring to f#%@ off.
"I’m still in the healthy range. So my Mii’s not fat, it’s healthy."
Eldest chimes in, "My Mii gets skinny when – "
"Go smell your little brother and tell me if he needs a new diaper."
Children obey instantly.
If only cleaning their room were as rewarding a task.
Attempt to point and click on <Skip Test.> Attempt fails. Directions flash on screen for three seconds. Balance test begins. Fumbling ensues. Laughter and screaming from next room.
"Mommy, Baby stinks REALLY badly! I’m serious!"
Diaper checking commences. False alarm.
Luck is changing.
Back to Wii board. Test results are in.
<The balance test really isn’t your thing, is it? Do you find yourself tripping a lot when you walk?>
"Now THAT was uncalled for. You’d better CHECK that attitude you –"
Children return. Internal editing in progress, again. WiiFit age is calculated.
<Your WiiFit age is: 50>
Internal editing fails. Sailor mouth opens. Children fetch soap. Yoga is selected.
Can’t bounce imaginary soccer balls off head, but can breathe like nobody’s business.
The husband. "Did you remember to register for your class today?"
Right. Must keep up teaching certificate, because ‘those who can, do . . .’
Heavy sigh. Soccer head-butting selected.
What the hell, used to do this for real once, right?
Exercising commences. Thirty-one points scored.
Results are in. Mii is crying.
Window opens. Board sails. Plastic technology crashes onto unkempt lawn.
Children are saucer-eyed. "Whoa! Whadja do that for, Mommy?"
"Puppy needed a new chew toy. Anyway, I don’t have time to exercise right now. I have to catch you three monkeys and return you to the zoo before they close."
Squealing. Running. Tickling.