My lack of gaming skills makes me a bad mom

We've been pretty cooped up around here lately. Isaac's white blood cell count has been on the low side and I don't want to expose him to unnecessary germs, his cast is very cumbersome, and Maren is too mobile for her own good. When Bryce was a baby I took him out somewhere every single days (zoo trips are necessary for five-month-olds, aren't they?), but somehow, over the years, I've gotten worn down and we now go nowhere. Not to the store (the cast is too big to fit through the hole in the cart), not to the Chick-Fil-A playground (germs are not our friends), not to church (see #2), not anywhere.

While I'm not totally insane staying home with #3 and #4 in the same way that I would have been with #1, Mondays, when the big kids go back to school, have been hard for Isaac. Today we took a jog in the stroller, baked our final batch of Christmas cookies, did some laundry, watched a LOT of Noggin, read books and played with Playmobil. Then we looked at the clock and it was 10:00 am. Eddie called about that time, and I started whining about how hard it is to entertain him. Eddie's suggestion was to turn on the Wii and play a few games for Isaac.

I hate the Wii. I don't know if I hate to play it, because I refuse to play it. I hate it on principle. On the principle that I was very, very bad at any and all video games I came across as a child and teenager, and there's just about nothing I want to do less than subject myself to mortification in front of my children (or anyone else). It's no coincidence that any sport I've ever been good at involves zero hand-eye coordination. It's a skill I'm naturally lacking and have no desire to improve. Eddie has suggested that I practice in private until I'm comfortable going public, but why would I want to spend any more time doing something I know I hate to do? We had friends who invited us to their house last year to play Guitar Hero and Dance Dance Revolution, and I had sweaty palms the whole way over. Too many flashbacks to getting smoked by my little brother playing Super Mario Brothers. Somehow, denying my three-year-old the right to watch me play video games for his enjoyment makes me a bad parent. He might be "sosososososo happy" making cookies (a direct quote from yesterday, which made me smile because I've been worrying that his bad luck would rub off on his mental state) but until I pull out the big guns (literally), I'm apparently not living up to my duties as a parent?

In my mind, that's what dads and big brothers are for. I might bemoan the fact that I'm doing dishes or folding laundry while they bond over the Wii, but I'd rather be scrubbing toilets than actually playing it myself. And that's why, even though Bryce has not touched his homework yet today, he's now working to "catch the king of the pond" for his poor hobbled baby brother.