Gymnastics-1, Swimming-Zip

There's a running joke in our family that I'm purposely steering Avery away from the pool and into the foam pits. I don't believe that's an entirely true statement. But I suppose when you get right down to it, gymnastics does seem to be edging out swimming in Dunker family sports category. But I think it's really just because of great timing and good ole' fashioned D-N-A.

So maybe I took her to a gym in NY at the age of 2. I swear it was only so that I could jump on the trampoline and mess around on beam every so often...bones and joints willing, of course. And it wasn't my fault that in NJ, after attending a gymnastics birthday party she asked me to sign her up again. I also take no responsibility in the fact that the best gymnastics club in the UK is a short 17 miles from our house (I'll send you a UK treat to the first who can can guess how long it takes us to get there). I can't help it that after one assessment session, that gym offered her an immediate spot, springing her ahead of a 9-12 month waiting list. Also, as most of you know and have graciously pointed out on more than one occasion, I pretty much sat on the bench when it came time for the bulk Avery's genetic make up. It's sad but true. She's easy going, never loses her temper, is a total genius, doesn't cuss like a sailor and has more patience than a pregnant elephant...can you see where I'm going with this? To further my claim of blamelessness Avery happens to be a girl. And since we females play absolutely no role in determining the sex of our babes, Dunks really has no one to blame but himself. I mean seriously, if Avery was a boy, would we even be having this little sports rivalry? But I digress, back to genetics. Most of the time I resign myself to the notion that I was merely a host for 9 months. However, the genes I did impart on our dear Avery I'm quite fond of. She'll never have the chance to look over someone's head while standing in line, she'll do more pull ups than all the boys in her class, she always be in the front row for group photos and in the back right corner of any military formation and her jeans will always be too long. So I can't help the fact that her strong little body was built for a gym instead of a pool.

I have to be honest here and say that I'm thrilled Avery loves gymnastics. It's what I know. And as ridiculous as this may sound, I'd rather tear all the skin off the palms of my hands from working uneven bars than walk around with legs that haven't seen a razor in 8 months. Okay, okay...the little Dunker in my head is telling me to "hold on a minute!" there are more potential issues with gymnastics than with swimming. So, I must admit a few things. Yes, I realize I'm ignoring the fact that she's got to flit about twisting and turning in a skimpy little leotard number but it's no different than a bathing suit, right? And there is that small possibility she could land on her: head-back-neck-arm-leg-stomach-side-shoulder-hip- bum-knee-thigh-ankle-elbow-wrist-and last but not least...pretty little face and cause serious bodily harm. But in the pool she could...drown!? And there has got to be some long term effect of all that chlorine on the skin, the lungs, the hair (mmmm...maybe that's the "root" of Dunker's hair loss?? ha!). Okay, so fused vertebrae, broken limbs, torn tendons, ripped palms, strained muscles and pulled ligaments aside...it's all part of the intrigue, the mystery, the danger and the fun of gymnastics. It hurts when you fall in the gym. When you fall in the pool you just get...wet. Where's the fun in that? Who wants to willingly jump into freezing cold water at 4am in December when you could wait until the afternoon and spend your entire practice in long sleeved spandex & sweatpants wishing your gym had the air conditioning on!? And why would anyone want to swim back and forth and back and forth for what must seem like an eternity when in 1 minute 30 seconds you can have finished your entire floor set. Finally, just about everyone on the planet knows how to swim. Boring! How many people can say they tried a full-twisting double back on floor? All right, enough of the pot shots about how gymnastics is a tougher therefore cooler sport than swimming. Here's the real point of this blah-blah-blah-blog:

Avery is really good. Last week her gym, Heathrow Gymnastics, held a Club Championship for all the members. It's a way for the girls to show off the new tricks and routines they've learned. It also gets them in front of a judge and allows them a few minutes in the spotlight. Keep in mind, she just started there in January and only goes once a week for one hour but out of over 50 little girls, Avery placed 6th (and that's after a fall off the beam). She was so excited about the meet, the night before it was all she could talk about. She wanted her leotard clean and her hair done with gel and glitter. Trust me, it wasn't the sparkles in her hair that made her shine. After the meet she was shocked that she placed and received not only a medal but a ribbon as well. Now we can't seem to get her to quit doing handstands against the living room wall, cartwheels in IKEA and round-offs in school.
These pictures are terrible so I apologize. My camera had a brief encounter with a bottle of Sprite over our last vacation.


Avery is the tiny one right above the white-haired lady's head.
She's the one with the red ribbon in the middle.

So when you boil all of this down, I'm proud of the genetic blueprints I've donated and I'm forever indebted to Matthew for those he provided. She will, without a doubt, end up fiercely competitive, she'll set her goals high and she won't quit until she reaches them, she constantly push herself and she'll never give up on anything. I think Dunks and I made a good team in terms of genetics despite not being able to agree on what sport we think is "tougher". Avery of course will be the deciding factor in what she ultimately wants to do. But for now, I wholeheartedly lay claim to and take comfort in her ability to flip, flop, twist, hop, spin and contort her itty-bitty frame in unimaginable positions. I am comforted because I know how fun and challenging it is for her right now. She's got her whole life to swim. As they say in all the athletic departments, it's one of those "life-time sports". And anyway, after all the pounding her body may do as a gymnast, swimming just might be the only thing that doesn't hurt every creaky bone in her body. :)

A day in the life of Avery...why does this feel like college?

So, many of you at home are probably wondering to yourselves: "What is it like in London for a 5 year old?" I thought it might be nice to be able to give you a little overview of how she spends her days in the UK.

She attends a private school in an area adjacent to ours. I would have loved to get her into one of two schools that are in walking distance from our house but there just aren't any spots open. As selfish and screwed up as this sounds, the desire was merely because I wanted to check out Jude Law or Ewan McGregor drop off their girls at either each day. Can you imagine? Excuse me...Jude...do you think your daughter would like to have a play date...like every day of the week? Then again, I don't have a nanny so I'd probably be turned down. Damn. That's all right, there's something not quite right about men in skinny jeans with pointy shoes. Eck!!

Her school is very small but she's blended in really well with the other children. Maybe blended isn't the right word since she is one of the few non-ethnic Caucasian children there. Her classroom is chock full of different nationalities, cultures and backgrounds. When you walk into her class, it's as if you stepped foot in the UN. Her teachers are from South Africa, India, France and of course all over the UK. A few months ago, she was allowed to dress up in a "National Costume" to support UNICEF's Day for a Change campaign. Unfortunately, the only thing I could come up with for Avery was a cowgirl, and that wasn't even my idea.

So back to her day. In school they are incredibly busy. They do reading, writing and maths in the morning. The afternoons are reserved for more of a "play" atmosphere (if you could call drama, swimming lessons, french and art, "play"). To offer some perspective, if Avery was at home in New Jersey right now, she'd be attending a pre-school for 4 hours a day, Monday-Friday. Then in September she'd attend kindergarten...half days. Here...Avery goes to school from 8:30 until 3:15pm, 5 days a week. She's already reading books and has picked that up so quickly it constantly shocks me. They've already started working on addition, subtraction and are in the early stages of fractions.

In the UK they focus the children very very early. For instance, Sloane will start attending a nursery program this September for 3 days a week and then in April she'll attend full day nursery. Crazy huh? They begin learning letter sounds and other things that get them ready to start reading. They do not learn letter names here. Instead they learn what the letter says: A says 'ah', C says 'ca'. It's very irritating for the UK teachers when the American children arrive writing in all capital letters. It was a small hurdle for us at first, but Av jumped it quicker than we imagined she would.

Currently, Avery has 5 workbooks at school. One for maths, another for 'Topic' which is where they write their sentences, a third for art, a fourth for more letters and a fifth with handouts consisting of maths and writing. On top of that she has two homework workbooks that must be done each evening. They have also started with spelling tests on Fridays. They get 10 words and are quizzed on how well they spell them as well as how well it's written. Quite a lot for one so young. Thankfully Avery doesn't stress about it and enjoys doing her work. She's very studious and has won two Head Teachers Awards already. Talk about a proud mommy!

It's not all work and no play for Avery and her classmates. They have PE twice a week and on one of those days they all get on a bus and head to a pool for swimming lessons. Often they can be found playing on the local playground. We also have jazz and gymnastics during the week as well. It's quite busy around here to say the least.

We'll be at the current school for two more years at which time, Avery will be given standardized UK tests. Those will evaluate her abilities and are mandatory in order to get her into another school. We have our eye on one school not far from our house that is supposedly really good. Already we've had to put her on the waiting list to be put on a waiting list for 2009. Yes, that's right...a waiting list to be put on another waiting list. If she performs well enough on the standardized tests, we'll receive a formal application in late 2008 at which time we'll have to immediately fill it out and return it the same day. That's so that we secure one place of 250 for this particular school. Then if her application makes it on the list of 250 applicants, she'll be brought in for more assessments. Depending on how that goes, she may or may not get a place in that school. Here's the kicker...there are only 24 spots available. It's ridiculous isn't it? Applications for school equals college in my mind...NOT GRAMMAR SCHOOL!!! It's a good thing they don't test the parents!!

Happy Easter!

Well almost. But, at least I've said it. It's out of the way and I can't be accused of forgetting. I have a bizarre tendency to remember important dates a little too far in advance. I give myself that quick and make believe pat-on-the-back but then as the time gets nearer, my mind goes blank and is instead filled with things such as "We need milk" or "I cannot forget to pick Avery up from school today... again". As you might guess, I completely forget the date which was so prominent in my mind just days earlier and of course, I neglect to give myself the quick and make believe swift kick in the rear. And yes, I realize Easter is only one day away now but I started drafting this blog about 2 weeks ago.

We've had a couple visitors the past few days which was a nice departure from our pretty mundane routine. Dana, my sponsor brother...no...not an alcoholics anonymous sponsor...my USAFA sponsor brother...and his girlfriend Robyn dropped in and crashed while they toured London. I haven't seen him since the day of my wedding and it was really nice to catch up and hear about all the things going on in his life. I'm still in awe that he rented a car and made it to London from Scotland without ending up in an accident. And I'm in awe that I neglected to take one photo of them while they were here. Shame on me.

For the past few days, the weather has been gorgeous. Yesterday, there wasn't a single drop of rain and we all got a little bit of a sunburn. Granted it took about 6 hours to get, but hey, it means there was actually enough sun, out long enough to toast us. It's the most welcomed yet measly burn I've ever received. Sloane had a blast just being able to run without us trailing too close behind.



The Royal Botanic Gardens in Kew was our adventure yesterday and we went enthusiastically in search of their advertised GIANT BUNNIES! It was a tad busy because it's now term break for all of the schools but it wasn't so terrible that I wanted to throw other people's children in one of the two ponds. Matt would say that it's because there is over 300 acres of land there but personally I'd almost go out on a limb and say it was the nice weather. It simply put a spring in my step and allowed me the ability to see past the unattended children whose parents couldn't be bothered by their kids' wild-animal behavior. Notice, I said almost. :)

The gardens were absolutely stunning and we were even able to make our way into a tropical rain forest, compliments of an incredibly over sized conservatory, the Temperate House. We learned about bamboo that, in a mere 16 days, grew to well over 6 feet tall. We saw banana trees, vanilla plants, trees that help create thatch roofs and plants that grow without being in any sort of dirt.



Like I mentioned earlier, we went in search solely of the giant bunnies that are said to be about 20 lbs each. Upon our arrival to the petting farm area I noticed the bunny off to the side. That's right...bunnY. There should be no plural used when mentioning the Giant Bunnies at Kew Gardens. Granted, the thing was gigantic but it was still just ONE big ole bunny. We did manage to pet some baby goats and we attempted to hold a baby duck but unfortunately, we were too polite, waited in the queue and subsequently got left waiting patiently while the duck was put back into it's cage. So much etiquette when children and animals are involved.



The trip was still worth it and the formal gardens were astoundingly beautiful. You could spend some serious time walking the grounds and letting your kids tire themselves out running through the immaculately groomed lawns. Click on THIS to check it out. And check out my 3 most favorite people on this earth...



Tonight night it's off to Scooby-Doo Live On-Stage at the Hammersmith & Apollo Theater. I know, I know, you're all jealous of our front row seats. Avery can hardly contain her excitement. She's been saying ever since we bought the tickets that Matthew can be Freddy, she gets to be Daphne and Sloane can be either Scooby or Shaggy. So of course...that only leaves me one option. I get to be VELMA! I told Av that I'd take brains over beauty any day of the week but man...secretly I'm like "Why do I have to be Velma???!!!! I don't even need glasses! That is sooooooo unfair!" Jinkies...what is happening to me?!

Rome-ance with a capital R

I have to say that Rome was never on my list of Places To See Before You Die. I mean, I'd seen Gladiator, right...really, what more was there?! So when Matt brought up a little four-day city escape I thought more along the lines of hot & tropical than old, colossal ruins. So, in response to his suggestion...and in a fit of blondness...I said "Great! Then we can save money by not staying in a hotel because our friends live near there."

The silence was deafening. "Are you still there?" I asked, thinking we lost the cell phone connection. He must have been in shock because at least 45 seconds went by and he still had not uttered a single word. Why you ask?

Our friends live in Athens. GREECE.

Yes. I know. I am indeed, an idiot. I also realize that I may never...ever...live this story down. Ah well. Let's just say that geography was never a strength of mine. And blond hasn't been my true color since about the age of 10.

So back to Rome. Talk about one incredible city! From the moment we stepped off the Leonardo Express (a train from the airport), we felt like the city just surrounded you and made you feel welcome. The people were friendly, the weather was beautiful. It could be the only place on earth where the cabbies hound you for a date instead of a fare.

We stayed at a beautiful hotel called the Hotel Eden and it was utterly fabulous, romantic and oh so shi-shi. We were just a quick walk from the Metro station, the Spanish steps and this little shopping area with all my never-frequented yet absolute-favorite-and-if-I-had-the-means-I'd-live-in stores: Chanel, Prada, Dior, Gucci, Hermes (by the way...FYI don't touch their bags or you'll get yelled at like I did), D&G, Louis V and Armani. It was quite a material playground for those with bank accounts sitting off-shore in the Caymans.

On our way to the Spanish Steps:



And here is the view from them:


And in case you'd like to find the material mecca:



The night we arrived we stumbled upon a little gem of a restaurant. The food was delicious, the ambiance was decent but the best part was the wine. Actually, it was crap to be honest, but it was only 8 Euros for an entire carafe. We would find, in the nights to come, that an 8 Euro bottle of wine was more difficult to find than a bar without stripper poles. (I'll explain that one a bit later).

There is SO much to see in Rome that there was no way we could have done it all in two short days. So we rounded down our sightseeing into three main things: Piazza San Pietro (St. Peter's Square), the Sistine Chapel and the Colosseum.

Our first stop, after having a pizza for breakfast, was St. Peter's square which is in the Vatican City, directly in front of St. Peter's Basilica. Did you know that the Vatican is a country in and of itself? I had absolutely no idea (by now, that's probably not surprising to many of you I'm sure. Ha.Ha.). As we're waiting in line, taking the obligatory self-portraits


we hear about a "free tour for English speakers". Instantly my BS radar goes up and out pops cynical Kerrie. So, for the hell of it, we tag along and as the guide is talking about the square, it's obelisk and the history of it all, I begin to question his motives. By now the crowd has grown and we're pushing our way through the crowded line. Consistently and methodically we were, as a group, jumping the line...ahead of people NOT on the tour. So while cynical Kerrie is waiting for the shoe to drop, competitive Kerrie is stoked because we're "legally" and quite unabashedly queue jumping. Surely the man has never been to England. By the time we arrived at the entrance of the Basilica we were given headsets and were officially caught up in tour.

Standing in the square is quite a feeling. You look around and on all sides you are surrounded by greatness and the sense of history is almost overpowering. I just kept wondering to myself how on earth all of this was created and how remarkable the architects and people of that time were. The number of Saints looking down on you from above almost outnumber the pigeons.





Here is the Holy Door that is only opened during the Jubilee Years.



And the view looking back on the square from the steps of the Basilica:



The first thing you notice when you're up close to the Basilica is it's sheer size. It is astronomical. It covers 5.7 acres and can hold up to 60,000 people inside. Here's some perspective...the Air Force Academy Football Stadium can hold about 54,000 people. The following picture doesn't do the size justice.



The dome, designed by Michelangelo, is almost 400 feet in height.



Below it resides Berninis canopy, a 90 ton bronze altar and below that, rests St. Peter, peaceful in his tomb. Or so we were told...wikipedia however says that's not true. Some tour guide huh?! And of course, there is Michelangelo's Pieta, one of the most beautiful and moving sculpture ever created. Since a crazy Eastern European tried to destroy the sculpture with a hammer, they've put her behind bulletproof glass. Bulletproof glass does nothing to aid in the ability to take good pictures so I borrowed this one from the web (thanks again wiki!).



Once the "Absolutely Free" Basilica tour ended, he was willing to take us all on a much more elaborate tour of the Sistine Chapel for 25 Euros a piece. We figured, why stop now. We were escorted to a nearby cafe where we handed over the cash and in return were given small yellow stickers in the shape of a dot. It was supposedly to ID us as "PAID" and part of his tour group. I merely stood back and watch, secretly hoping to catch his gang of gypsies spotting the easy marks. I mean, it wasn't hard...we were all sportin' the bright yellow dots for crying out loud! Just in case this guy was a real sleaze though, I took his picture. That way, I could show it to the cops if anything shady happened to us. Yes, I've watched too much C.S.I. At least I didn't go so far as to leave my hair all over the place for the DNA...but it certainly crossed my mind!



Well, the Pope must have known that the Dunkers were going to be in town because he made no plans that weekend. And if we hadn't already signed up for the Chapel tour we'd have joined him for a big ol' glass of Merlot. You can tell he's home since he's shudders are open (2d from the right, top floor).



Turns out, all in all our guide was decent. We were pretty happy we got sucked in and were more satisfied that it wasn't us that ended up the easy mark. The poor gal that did however, had a southern drawl so thick that I think the gypsies picked up on it just by reading her mind. Picking pockets in the Vatican...I'd love to be a fly on the wall when that guy tries to explain that one to St. Peter!

Off we went in search of the Sistine Chapel. On our way we saw the hall of tapestries and we were able to bear witness to many of Raphael's frescos. Once we were in the chapel however we were speechless. It is such a sight to behold and I can find no words to accurately describe the feeling you have when standing there staring at the ceiling. You aren't allowed to take pictures because of what the camera flashes will eventually do to the ceiling. So, I didn't use a flash and had Matthew run some interference. The first picture below is of the actual ceiling. I had to lighten it up a bit after but it's not bad if I do say so myself! The second is of a poster showing the back wall...my picture didn't turn out at all.





We had had big plans to eat early, take a nap and then go out for a night of bar hopping and wine tasting. We managed the early dinner and the nap but unfortunately when we woke up at 9 AM from said nap, but by that time, the 'getting a drink' bit didn't sound so appetizing. Instead we got a $12 cappuccino the size of one of Avery's miniature toy teacups.

Day Two was our day at the Colosseum. We managed to fend for ourselves and not get sucked into any freebie tours. As soon as we walked out of the Metro station...there it was.



Huge. Massive. Colossal. Again, another sight I have trouble accurately describing. Upon entering the Colosseum I was struck by how cold it was and I couldn't help but wonder if that had something to do with how many souls were lost during it's heyday. On more than one occasion I found myself with chills while looking into the animal and slave cells that were just below the Colosseum floor.



These days though, the only beast roaming this stone structure is that of this little ferocious one:



Since we had some time to kill we took a walk through the Palatine Hills. This area is one of the most ancient parts of the city. To this day they are still excavating parts of it and in 2006, archaeologists found the Palatine House. Supposedly it was the birthplace of Rome's first emperor, Augustus. We didn't know where it was but here are some great pics of the hills and some of the amazing structures in it.




The rest of our time in Rome was spent wandering the streets, checking out the stores and staring, in awe, at the architecture. Every street held something beautiful and so full of history you get the goose bumps. And that dear friends, was about it for our trip to the wondrous and romantic city of Rome.

...

Oh yes, I almost forgot. The stripper poles.

So it's our first night and after dinner we thought we'd go find a bar, hang out and have a few beers to celebrate our mini-getaway sans children. We thought it was early (we failed to change the time on Matt's watch) so we wandered around for awhile with no luck. It was about 1:30am and most everything was, of course, closed for the evening. But we managed to keep running into mafia-looking men in long coats standing outside certain drinking establishments. We purposely steered clear of those that had flashing, neon "LAP DANCE" signs but were finding those more often than not. However, as we approached one little place, there were no signs and the man out front was very pleasant. He looked like anybody's grandpa.

As soon as I stepped foot into the bar I was struck with the sight of two brass poles in the middle of the floor, set atop a little platform. Immediately I turned around to Matt and muttered under my breath...THIS IS A STRIP JOINT! He looked at me like I was crazy and said..."it is not". As habit would have it, the second thing I did upon entering the bar was scan the room. Here is what I saw:

1. Hardly any tables but LOTS of couches.
2. Way too many mirrors.
3. Very old men dancing incredibly close with women 30 years their junior.
4. 10 to 1 in favor of men.
5. Glittery, sparkly eyeshadow, 6 inch heels, some seriously blond wigs and red lipstick on everyone but the 4 men the joint.
6. Woman in the corner, sitting alone smoking a cigarette with one of those long plastic thingys attached to it, dressed in all white leather, black hair and wait...that's not a woman. Man trying to be a woman...

OKAY. I'm OUT. We're done here. But no. My innocent, dear sweet Matthew was still in denial that this was a bar of ill repute. Hmmm...you're probably thinking this was intentional? Believe it or not, I don't think he had a clue. Only after I dug my nails into his arm and led him back out the entrance did he notice that the poles were, in fact, not there to hold up the ceiling. Perhaps we should have noticed the mirrored windows on our way in...I actually just thought they put them there so us chicas could check out our hair :)