We decided to enroll the kids in gymnastics this summer. Admittedly, I think this can almost wholly be attributed to seeing a picture of Mary Lou Retton on a Wheaties box at the grocery store (which I impulsively shoved into my over-flowing shopping cart).
I figured with the summer Olympics taking place this year, and all of the weeks Djeryd would be gone through the summer, the littles needed something new and challenging to look forward to each week.
It worked out really well. I only had to take Alyx along once. It turned out to be a total nightmare and I vowed to never do it again. You know it’s bad when the instructors, who you’ve never talked to in your entire life, comment after class about the size of your child’s lungs – especially when that child was down the hall and around the corner during almost the entire lesson.
I was really hoping for gymnastics to be a catalyst for some serious cultural immersion. I expected they would want to watch and learn all they could about every Olympian competing in gymnastics. I had visions of pouring over books about other countries, cultures and civilizations. I seriously thought a little gymnastics class would open up this big wide world to my children. . . . No such luck.
But they had fun and explored a new skill. It helped mark time in what could have been a very long, uneventful summer for these little guys. And I loved watching them.
Especially with a face like that.