A Shameful Admission

Perhaps you’ve noticed that this blog has been slightly neglected over the last week.

Well, if I were the kind of woman I’d like to be, I’d modestly inform you that I was off doing important things — traveling to Japan on a goodwill mission, or raising money for my kids’ school fundraiser, or learning to tango.

But no.

The real reason I’ve been away is far more shameful.

I’ve become a gamer.

I suppose it was only a matter of time before it happened. You see, my entire family has an ongoing, long-term love affair with video games, and over the years we’ve accumulated an Xbox, a Wii, a Playstation 2, and a Nintendo 64. All of them get regular use.

And while experts love to point out the evils of gaming, the fact is that video games have done nothing but bring my family closer. Most of our games are designed for two or more players, and if you think the kids aren’t getting any exercise then you should watch my daughter play Kinectimals some time– or, if you really want a good laugh, watch my 4-year-old son play just about anything. He stands with his remote in front of the television covered in sweat, jumping and kicking in real life each time he makes his character do it on the screen.

No, I don’t have a problem with the video games– as long as other people are playing them.

“Why don’t you like playing video games, Mommy?” my children have asked me over and over again.

“I just don’t have the time for them,” I say… and it’s true. There was a time when I loved playing video games, and devoted hours to conquering Zelda, and Nightmare Creatures, and the Ratchet and Clank games.

But now I have children. And a writing career. And food to prepare. And a house to keep clean. And I have always known, beyond a doubt, that the moment I sat down and started playing LEGO Indiana Jones would be the moment that everything else crumbled in neglect around me.

Because that, friends, is how I roll. If I’m going to do something, I’M GOING TO KEEP DOING IT UNTIL I WIN. Laundry and school projects and bath time be damned.

Know what I’m sayin’?

And so I would smile and pat my children’s heads when they asked me to play video games with them, and suggest we read a book or do a craft instead– because video games were “Daddy’s thing.”

But then last week, I was tricked.

My husband bought a $20 Xbox Arcade card at the drugstore and announced that each of us could download one $4.99 game and play it as part of the evening’s entertainment. I chose the original Frogger, which, contrary to what I had remembered about the game, sucked. I played it once and have no desire to ever play it again, nor does anyone else in my family.

My husband, though, chose a game called Zuma. It’s got a Tetris-like appeal, but with colored marbles instead of blocks. The marbles move through a labyrinth and you shoot like-colored balls at them to form three or more of the same color, which makes that chain of marbles disappear. It’s a ridiculous game…

And I can’t stop playing it.

Seriously. I can’t stop playing it.

After that inaugural night of Zuma (I actually call the game ‘Marbles,’ which is so much more kicky, don’t you agree?), I found myself drawn to our Xbox like Kim Kardashian to a camera. Morning, noon and night, my life was about nothing but Marbles. I put off blogging for Marbles, put off making dinner for Marbles. When I closed my eyes at night, I SAW MARBLES.

This is exactly why I DO NOT GAME.

For their part, my kids loved my Marbles addiction, which is strange considering the fact that Marbles gave them a small taste of what life would be like if Mommy were a crack ho. I can’t even believe the stuff that came out of my mouth while I was in the middle of a game. “I’ll get you some milk as soon as this game’s over,” wasn’t all that bad on its own, but “Why are you two still arguing? Are you TRYING to make me lose MARBLES?!!” was a bit high-strung for me. “If I lose this game, you’re BOTH going IN THE NAUGHTY CORNER!” was even worse. And yes, “Who cares if you’re late? School can wait until I win level five!”was completely unacceptable.

Sorry, teachers.

But it wasn’t until yesterday, when I spent 15 minutes trying to convince my son to stop playing LEGO Star Wars on the Xbox and let me play Marbles instead (The phrase “If you REALLY loved me, you’d let me play Marbles,” may or may not have been used. More than once.), that I realized I had hit rock bottom.

I knew in that moment that I wasn’t playing Marbles anymore.

MARBLES WAS PLAYING ME.

I can’t quit Marbles cold turkey, but I’m definitely cutting back. I have to. I can totally see where this is headed. If I don’t stop myself now, before I know it I’ll find myself living not in a comfortable suburban home surrounded by a loving family, but alone. In a van down by the river.

And, well. Now you know.