Oui, we got a Wii®. As you might imagine, Tom’s competitive side is displayed in its full glory when he plays Wii Sports. So far, he has won every game played on the dang thing. I’m going to have to start practicing while Tom’s at work. And I’m secretly counting the hours until Laura’s next play date with Henry so that someone who really knows how to play Wii Sports can put Tom in his place. The worst part of all? When he plays, Tom moves his body and swings his arm all over the place, causing me and Laura to behave like arcade-game moles — he has nearly whacked us on more than one occasion. In Tom’s defense, I will say that when he can manage it without risking a missed shot or the loss of a point, we do get a cursory apology. Apparently it is more important to get the bowling/tennis/golf ball in the right place than to leave family members’ body parts intact. But really, what’s a bruised limb or mild brain damage between loved ones? Thank God for the wrist strap. But still, I do have to keep telling Tom to put it on, warning him that Wii damage is not the stuff of urban legends. I even remind Tom that one of Bryce’s roommates once let a Wiimote fly, shattering it and causing precious nearby objects to crash. So far, with an almost imperceptible roll of his eyes when I prompt him, Tom reluctantly puts on the wrist strap. (If he acted the same way about putting on a condom during his college years, there just might be a little fatherless, green-eyed child who’s really good at gymnastics and chess out there that we don’t know about.) I must tell you that I secretly harbor a mad desire that Tom will cause a Wiimote to fly through our TV screen. It would accomplish two important ends. 1) I’d have a proper excuse to get me that big-ass plasma-screen TV for which I have had a hankering; and, 2) without my even needing to point it out, Tom would know that I was right.