Rockville Mountain High

Yesterday I climbed a mountain. Okay, not a real one, but a really tall wall at Earth Treks in Rockville. Even since seeing my older daughter scale the rock courses at two Earth Treks birthday parties, I have wanted to try it myself. Clamoring onto Olney Square Park's kiddie rock-climbing wall was all I had ever accomplished -- and that was before my kids shooed me off before anyone saw me.

On the drive to Rockville, I suddenly panicked. What if I can't do it? What if I lose my nerve while stuck on the wall -- in front of everyone? What if I can't make it to the top? When we reached the Marlo building (which houses the indoor climbing gym) I thought, Too late to turn back now.

Suited up with harnesses and led by a friendly instructor, my younger daughter and I embarked on our vertical adventures. She climbed up first so quickly, making it look easy! Then I tried. Ascending was easier than I thought it would be, and a bit exhilarating ... until I looked down. About three-quarters of the way to the top, I noticed how small the people on the ground looked. Even worse, I made the mistake of looking to my right, where an advanced climber dangled above me, close to the ceiling! My palms began to sweat. I paused. Too late to turn back now.

After willing myself to reach the highest rock, I began to ride down on the rope. Descending was smooth, once I got the hang of sitting back and bracing my feet against the wall instead of swinging and banging it. My daughter and I climbed two more times, each time on a more challenging course and with increased confidence and speed. I discovered what great a workout rock climbing is -- for the legs, the upper body, and even the mind. As my daughter breathlessly exclaimed, indoor rock climbing is "fun, but a little scary!” – although probably not a scary as scaling a real mountain outdoors.

Snow Blower Fun

A few years ago, a neighbor (a New Hampshire native) and I (a New Jersey native) scoffed at other neighbors who owned snow blowers. "Why?!" we asked with disbelief. After all, we Northerners were used to seeing several feet of snow during the winter, not the mere inches of flakes that fall in here Olney. We joked that schools around here close (or open late), parents panic and motorists slow to a snail's pace at the first sign of flurries. Up north, we had to be snowbound in order for any place to close.

Well, last year that happened here. I (and the neighbor, who migrated north to Maine!) ate our words, what with the record-breaking snow drifts that closed down not only MCPS, local businesses and the county government, but also the federal government for several days. Once the streets were finally plowed, some people hurried out to buy snow blowers .

Last Thursday, arriving home during this area's first snowfall of the year, I spied a dark figure on our driveway... pushing a snow blower! Just moments earlier, I was bracing myself for shoveling my long driveway. But aha! My neighbor across street -- one of those folks who purchased a post-blizzard snow blower -- was clearing the snow off of my driveway. He had already cleaned off my front walkway and sidewalk!

"I hope you don't mind," he said as I thanked him effusively. "I'm just having some fun with the snow blower. I'm not spoiling any of your shoveling fun, am I?"

What's in a Name? Part III

Last summer OBX and this blog hosted a discussion of professionals and their fitting (but true) surnames (i.e. Dr. Footer, the podiatrist; B. Lawless, the lawyer; A--man, the proctologist -- okay, that last one was from Seinfeld, but you get the idea). Yesterday I was wondering about a fitting name for the Olney Ballet Theatre (OBT) Indoor Tag Sale at its newly purchased house on Georgia Avenue. Tag sale? What does that mean? Were tags for sale? Did people even know what the term Tag Sale meant? I thought people would but perhaps not. Despite boasting bargains of new and gently used items (including jewelry, housewares, toys, home decor, etc.), the OBT sale did not generate as much traffic as expected -- a steady and respectable flow, just not deal-seeking holiday crowds.

In anticipation of similar future OBT sales, I pondered (and then rejected) a few misnomers:

Rummage Sale: no, the name implies used items and castoffs only

White Elephant Sale: oy, the merchandise sounds even shabbier and more unwanted

Boutique: oops, now we're moving too far in the opposite direction, suggesting vendors and artists peddling pricey new wares

Bazaar or Flea Market: too expansive and we're not selling anything bizarre or with fleas

Estate Sale: too grandiose-sounding and fortunately we're not liquidating a deceased person's worldly goods

Moving Sale: OBT just moved into, not out of the house

Yard or Garage Sale: the merchandise is inside the house, which has no garage anyway

Indoor Yard Sale: Yes, this may be the winner! Although an oxymoron (who has a yard indoors, unless the person owns a stadium?), this term accurately describes the event -- a sale of new and gently used items, at yard sale prices, inside a house. Okay, next time we'll set out a few large items (bikes, furniture, etc.), come on in for bargains!

Saturday Night Lights

Each year during the holiday season, I enjoy the festive decorations throughout Olney. Lights in all colors and shapes -- red Santas pulled in sleighs by brown reindeer, blue ornamental balls, pink flowers, even white giraffes and green palm trees -- adorn my neighbors' yards. I've always admired their gorgeous luminous designs ... only to glance ruefully at my own dark house. My husband has never allowed us to decorate with that blinks, moves, and/or has any color. He does hang a fresh green wreath with a red ribbon on our front door (and shines a bright spotlight on it) every year, but anything else would be out of his decorating comfort zone.

This afternoon, he ventured outside of his comfort zone. As I pulled into our driveway, I was shocked to see not only the standard issue wreath/spotlight display, but also a string of white (baby steps here) lights zigzagging over the front bushes -- on both sides of the front door (how daring for him!). My daughter climbed out of the car and remarked, "Oooh! Now we're not the only dark house on our street." She paused, her admiration turning into a bit of self-consciousness. "Hey, uh, we're the only house on our street with holiday lights on."

The sun had not set so it wasn't even dark out yet. Okay, so we're novices to this light business. At least we finally have outdoor holiday lights up ... for the first time ever!

At the library

Libraries are magical places. My childhood library was monumental. We went to the city's main library, simply because it was the closest, but also because it was amazing. There are some advantages to small-town living, one of which is that the children's librarian still recognizes my mother when they see each other in the grocery store. I've lived away from my childhood hometown for 16 years; but I had such a close relationship with my favorite librarian that she still asks after me.

I still have my library card with my 3rd grade signature. I would have one from even younger, but I had to turn it in. The earlier card was made of paper. In 3rd grade the library system switched to barcoding, and I got a plastic library card. There was a rule in the children's room of the library: each patron could check out four books per visit. I made my selections so carefully, knowing how I'd reread those four books for several weeks before I traded them in for new stories.

We now regularly take our small children to the Olney library, and imagine my surprise and horror that there are no limits on books. I would have been so good with telling E to select four books but the lovely librarian on the first day said, "sweetie, pick as many as you'd like!"

Do NOT give instructions like that to my child, for she will hold those words in her heart as Truth. Please and thank you?

So the girls run around making piles of books on the little kid-sized tables until I finally point out that we can not carry anymore. E finds a series that she is currently enjoying, such as Curious George, and tries to gather one of every Curious George on the shelves. (Do you know how many Curious George books there are? No? Many. Many many many. Could someone please give a name to the man with the yellow hat already?) L finds a book that enchants her and tries to take every copy of that same book off the shelf. She truly wants all four copies of Learn Baby Sign Language. Try to replace one, let alone three, and she'll shriek for all to hear: my babies, my babies! as if her offspring have been kidnapped.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. There is no physical way to enforce both
1) Pick as many books as you'd like
and
2) Shh! Quiet voices. We're in a library.

But it's all worthwhile, I remind myself, because I'm providing them The Library Experience. I'm a good mom, see?

Earlier this week, we made our last trip to the library. It closes at the end of the month for a two-year renovation. I know how badly it needs rehabbing; but this is the only library my kids know. It's the one they love and the one that provides the foundation for their sweet library memories.

We'll find another branch to visit, I'm sure.

But it will be bittersweet to spend two years driving past a closed Olney library.

Where the Wreaths Are

There is that time near the end of October and of course in November. You see the wreaths, snowflakes and other Christmas decorations affixed to buildings and lamp posts. I see them springing up here and there on my drive to work, around the Shoppers Food plaza. Here's a wreath, there's another one. I see them suddenly one day magically appear when the day before there wasn't anything there. You hear it too. Christmas music. It gets planted in your brain and can slowly drive you mad. Just in TJ Maxx, for maybe fifteen minutes, that's about all I could take. And then it follows you outside. Hurry to the car and turn up a classic rock station. My poor brother in law works at Target. They started setting up and stocking for Christmas in oh, September? He gets immune to the music.
Still, it's nice to see in Olney, the small town feel. Lights and displays popping up. The family passed by the Olney Mill last week and saw volunteers decorating. Later that day the lights were all aglow. Thanksgiving is here, Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa. The Holidays are here.

It's Alive!

One recent sunny afternoon, my friend and I were power-walking and enjoying our neighbors' creative and Halloween decorations a neighbor and I passed an elaborately adorned yard with pumpkins on the stoop, ghosts in the trees, and ghoulish shapes in the yard. Suddenly, we heard a voice and spotted movement among the decorations! A grandmotherly figure stood up to greet us, "Hello there!"

"Aaa!" my neighbor startled and chuckled nervously. "I thought you were part of the decorations."

The grandmother looked down at her clothing and laughed. "Hey, I guess you are right! I do blend in." She happened to be wearing an orange sweatshirt and black pants; she was just sunning herself on a chair in the middle of the yard while watching her grandchildren play.

The Furry Farmer

We dutifully put our pumpkins out on our front stoop in October. Sometimes carved, usually just plain out there. About two years ago, we noticed that our tenant chipmunk- who lives somewhere under our foundation- took a liking to the carved pumpkin. We could see the bite marks made into the pumpkin. Well, it was either "Chippy" the chipmunk or the squirrels. What we did not expect was for Chippy to plant the seeds around the front bushes. The next year, around summer time we were wondering what was growing. We just let it grow until we figured out it was a pumpkin plant. The plant took a life of its own and with not that much care aside from the occasional drowning by the girls. By the end of summer we could see the bud/flowers and what would eventually be a pumpkin. The first year yielded 2-3 small pumpkins. Out on the stoop they went. Although we didn't see as many bite marks as before, I did help out Chippy by throwing a couple seeds in the same spot. He must have got the hint because there were about five plants that started growing the next year. One especially stretched out down the driveway. We had to move that one onto the lawn and I had to avoid it when I mowed. This year's bumper crop was another three pumpkins. Aside from those obtained from pumpkin patch field trip and family trips, there are about eight on the stoop. I think Chippy and company are going to go nuts this year.

Thirteen Ways of Delivering a Line

A recent experience reminded me of the Wallace Stevens poem, "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird." No, I wasn't bird watching, but people watching. At my child's elementary school, I observed energetic students audition for a part in the school musical. Each student had to deliver the line "No, I won't do it" three times but each time expressing a different emotion. The teacher would instruct each auditionee, "You are feeling..." and then give him or her feeling (i.e, happy, sad, angry, bored, shy, etc.). The most difficult sentiment for these courageous kids to play was "love"; the boys seemed especially squeamish to act out this "sappy" emotion. I was a little relieved that most students did not understand the feeling of "grief," hopefully from lack of experience in this area. The 10-yr-old thespians' vivid and diverse vocal, facial and bodily interpretations of this single line ("No, I won't do it." "NO, I WON'T DO IT!" "No, I won't do it…") were incredibly funny and moving.

Another parent assisting with the auditions suggested that if the teacher ever tired of hearing over and over “No, I won't do it,” the teacher could substitute, “These pretzels are making me thirsty." That was Kramer's line in a Woody Allen movie during "The Alternate Side" Seinfeld episode. Ha! For once I was not the first person to make a Seinfeld connection to real life.

Multitasking in the Shower

A friend (J) and I were admiring the recently renovated bathroom of another friend (K). Peeking at K's newly tiled shower, J spotted a small recessed square in the wall opposite of the shower head. She exclaimed, "A shelf for shampoo! I had one put in too! My husband joked that it was a beer shelf, not a shampoo shelf."

That little alcove is such a clever use of space for storing small items, I thought. Then I noticed a triangular slab of marble protruding from the stall's corner. A bench! You can sit down while washing, I mused.

Imagine swigging a beer while taking a load off of your feet, all under massaging jets of hot water. K's shower stall beats Kramer's shower in "The Apology" Seinfeld episode. Sure, he may have tossed a salad in his shower equipped with a garbage disposal, but could he put up his feet and have a drink? Okay, the shelf is really for shampoo...

At the Sandy Spring Volunteer Fire Department

We spent the afternoon climbing up and down fire trucks, in and out of an ambulance, and through a medivac helicopter. To a little kid? That's about the coolest thing ever.

Today was the open house at the Sandy Spring Volunteer Fire Department. The fire station down Georgia Avenue that we pass every day without much thought puts on a fantastic annual event. This wasn't our first year visiting, and I'm sure we'll be back.

The kids loved the red firefighter hats and badges they received, as well as the lollipops and coloring books and running through the smoke maze and operating a real fire hose. It was a wonderland of fun for them and they absorbed good safety lessons, perhaps without realizing so.

And for us, the grownups? We spent the afternoon among the rescue workers that keep our community safe, and other happy families enjoying the autumn day. Just another nice feature of living in Olney.

Two Housewives on a Power Walk

Wendy and Kelly are on a morning power walk when Kelly says, "I hate going to the grocery store."

Wendy sympathizes, "I know everything is so expensive and I never know what to buy."

Kelly, "It's not that, Olney is such a small town I always run in to someone and a quick trip becomes an hour long discussion."

Wendy, "That's what you get when you know everyone in town."

Kelly, "I know, but I don't like having to hide behind a display to avoid someone."

Wendy giggled, "Who were you hiding from?"

Kelly, "Sally, I saw her come in and I quickly turned down an aisle so she wouldn't see me. She is recruiting volunteers for Field of Screams."

Wendy, "I know I already signed up to help with concessions."

Kelly sarcastically replied, "Well good for you!"

Wendy, "Hey, you can always do what Nancy Reagan taught us Just Say No."

Kelly, "I know. Just explain to me how for the 'Real Housewives' on Bravo volunteering means getting dressed up, having your hair and make-up done and going to gala events with your gay husbands. For me it means standing in some cold concession booth, taking money from a bunch of giggling tweens."

Wendy, "If our volunteering was like that we could get Patty to help out."

Kelly, "Well they got me."

Wendy asked, "What do you mean 'they got you'?"

Kelly, "While I was dodging Sally I literally ran right into Valerie."

Wendy started laughing, "Oh no, she probably signed you up for 3 other things."

Kelly, "She tried, but I said I could only do one, and with Sally standing there I agreed to work concessions at Field of Screams."

Wendy, "Oh come on, you know we always make it fun."

Kelly, "I know, but it's in my DNA to complain about something."

As they got closer to Kelly's house, she said, "I'm going to start going to the Harris Teeter in Fulton, it will probably be quicker and I won't know anyone."

Wendy said, "Fat chance, you know someone everywhere."

As Kelly turned up her driveway she said, "Same time next week?"

Wendy who had already picked up the pace and had her cell phone out yelled over her shoulder, "Absolutely."

Another Self-Checkout Adventure

In "Do I Have a Choice?" (posted 9/19/10), I described my ambiguous relationship with the self-checkout lane at Giant -- ambiguous because although the user pad asks for my opinion on the final purchase total ("Amount Okay?), it never actually listens to my response ("No, amount is not okay; take off 25-50%").

Yesterday the register offered its own opinion when I mistyped a produce code (I didn't need to look it up; I just copied it off the item's sticker). I caught my error and hit "clear." Before I even had a chance to begin retyping the correct number, I was greeted with a high-pitched, electronic "Oops!" I quickly looked around; no one seemed to have heard that disparaging squeal. I could have sworn that voice was mocking me.

Then I purposely entered the incorrect code for another piece of produce and hit "clear" again. Silence. Hmm... I tried again. No chiding voice. Was I hearing things? Was I going crazy? I wasn't going to dignify that scolding with my own response. Amount not okay (too high as usual) but I'll stay quiet and pay it anyway.

Purging - It Hurts So Good

There are two kinds of people - those that accumulate things and those that don't. To those that don't, my hat's off to you. I am not worthy. For the rest of us, accumulating things is an ongoing process. First you acquire things, then you store things. It's the storing things that has buried me. I'm pretty sure I'm not a hoarder (that Buried Alive show has traumatized us all) but I do tend to hang on to things too long. "But I might need that some day!!" Once when my friend tried to de-clutter me after I had my first child, she asked me the following question for everything she picked up, "Have you used this in the past year?" If it's no, toss it. Boy that's hard. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to need a box to mail or wrap something and be able to put my hands on just the right box! I know, I'm sad.

Well, there's hope on the horizon. Thanks to my friend "A," I am now engaged in weekly de-cluttering sessions with a buddy. Once a week, A and I spend 30 mins (okay, it's more like 2 hours) on a de-cluttering project at her house and then at my house. It's not a new concept, but we finally decided to do it and I highly recommend it. The beauty of it is, we're both very organized. We just can't let go of our own stuff so the other person purges it for you.

Ah, that feeling of space. I'm embracing it.

Sticker Shock

I never should have gone to Ecuador. My friend walked around with $3 in her pocket and it lasted the whole day!! Here? It's $4 for a tall pumpkin spice latte and $3 for a child size cup of Rita's. Really? I know, I need a reality check - Olney is not Guayaquil. But still. Is it possible things have gotten out of whack? Dare I say it, but I long for the old days. I've decided I just can't afford Starbucks and Rita's anymore....:(

Do I Have Choice?

I enjoy using the self-checkout lanes at Giant. With each swipe of a barcode, I delight in hearing the "Beep! Beep!" sounds of a successful scan. I've also grown accustomed to the mechanical voice. When a new voice was recently introduced in one of the self-checkout lanes, I was a bit taken aback; I thought, 'I'll have to use another lane next time. Maybe I'll -- in the words of Peter Gabriel -- hear that voice again.'

Sometimes the voice can be a bit impatient. At the end each transaction it commands: "Use the electronic pen to sign the signature tablet. When you are finished, please press DONE." Too busy putting away grocery/credit cards, bagging items and loading my cart, I'm often not quick enough; I then hear "USE the electronic pen to SIGN the signature tablet. When you are finished, PLEASE press DONE." If I am still fumbling with my wallet or chasing rolling fruit/cans, the voice insistently repeats: "USE THE ELECTRONIC PEN TO SIGN THE SIGNATURE TABLET. WHEN YOU--" and I sign quickly just to cut it off.

The most fun I have using the self-checkout aisle is talking back to the user screen. It always flashes the final sum with the question: "Amount Okay?" As if I had a choice. Do I have a choice? I didn't know I had a say in the final total!

"No, the amount is not okay," I retort, "I think the amount should be 50% lower." So far, no mechanical voice has replied, except with "Thank you for shopping at Giant."

Signs, Signs, Everywhere they're signs

Driving around with the girls and the firstborn asks, "Why are all these signs up with names like OMalley, Leventhal, Murphy, and Ehrlich? Well, time to explain politics, parties, and primary elections. I try to explain the difference between Republicans and Democrats. I don't even go there with the Tea Party. See, these people are running for Governor, county council, delegates, congress. I try to break it down because, who wants to hear about this stuff when you are just in your double digit age? I thought I gave an age appropriate, fair and balanced explanation. FOX light-news coverage for tweens and younger.

Then the bigger question, "When are they coming down?" Well, we just had a primary election that now decides who is running against who and for which party. Sorry, honey, but we going to see these signs until November. Get out and vote...

You Just Can't Fight Mother Nature

Keeping the house clean. Hmm, who thought it would be so hard? Why do we care? Is it only the mom that cares? (okay, I know there are some neat husbands out there).

So now, in addition to having to pick up after two kids and the various pets, I'm having to chase after stink bugs and squirrels. It's not that the stink bugs are messy, it's just that they're, well, weird. They remind me of manatees in Florida. They're harmless, but they're not pretty to look at and you don't want them in your living room. This morning I unpacked my suitcase from the weekend away (no, I don't unpack the minute I get home), and as I pulled out my blouse, there was a stink bug stuck to it. I don't think it was alive anymore but that's what's weird about them. You can't tell if they're alive or dead until they move. I'm happy to report that I've never actually smelled one but I can only imagine how bad it is if they've been coined with the name, "stink bug." The animal that's really driving me insane right now are the squirrels. I must have the most self-actualized Dogwood Tree known to man because it 'lets go' of so many things all over my patio all year long! Right now it's dropping these big prickly cherry things. The squirrels have decided these are as good as maraschinos because they're eating them voraciously. The problem is that it's creating the biggest mess on my patio. These things are tough to sweep away when they're whole. After the squirrels have worked on them, they're in a billion sticky pieces! If they're going to eat them, why don't they just eat them cleanly and not leave a chewed up mess! (note: I've said the same to my kids) I'm constantly sweeping!

As I sit here writing, a squirrel has just strolled onto the patio and picked up a cherry and is eating it! Right now! This minute! In front of me! It's like he knows I'm writing about him. Oh well. Always the mom, I guess it's good to know that he's getting a full stomach in time for winter.

Back to School Olney Housewife Style

After all the e-mails and checking the weather forecast the ladies decided to have their annual back to school lunch at Riccuiti's. Wendy and Sally liked being able to sit outside, Valerie liked that Riccuiti's used mostly local ingredients and had contributed to the Olney Farmer's Market, Kelly liked the fact that she always ran into someone she knew (honestly that happened anywhere they went) and Patty liked the martinis.

After they were seated on the patio and had given the waiter their drink order they dove in to the normal chit chat. "How are your kids adjusting to school?" "Fine, how about yours?" and so one.

They were half way into their first cocktail when Patty asked "Do y'all know Olney is having "a season" this year?"

Kelly smiled knowingly as Wendy asked, "what do you mean by a season?"

Patty explained, "there are two dinner dances at the end of October."

Sally said, "I know about the Sherwood Athletic Hall of Fame on the 30th, but what is the other one?"

Patty answered, "the other is the In Honor of Her costume ball on the 23rd."

Valerie said, "I went to it last year, isn't that the ball to raise money for survivors of domestic abuse and their children?"

Kelly answered, "Yes, it is run by Tommy and Michelle Tavernner, who used to own Mr. T.'s and Silo Inn. They started the foundation in memory of their niece who was killed by an act of domestic abuse. She left behind twin daughters."

Patty said, "Evidently she loved Halloween so they are having a full costume ball, Bittersweet is playing."

Wendy said, "Oh no, another Bittersweet event?"

Sally asked, "What's wrong with Bittersweet events."

Wendy, "Well I usually stay out to late, drink too much, and talk so loud that I lose my voice for a week."

Patty, "In other words you always have a great time."

Wendy, "Yea, until the next day."

Patty, "So who's going to what? I'm going to both."

Kelly, "I'm going to both."

Sally, "Of course you are you will probably know everyone. I'm definitely going to the Sherwood event."

Valerie, "I'm already in charge of tickets for the Sherwood Athletic Hall of Fame, I should find out if In Honor of Her needs any help.

Wendy, "I'll probably be at both."

Patty held up her mostly empty martini glass, "Heres to a fun filled October in O-town and waiter bring us another round."

Moving on Up in Olney

The Wifey and I have been in Olney in form or another for 15 years. We started out living in the Tamarron apartments in back of the the old movie theatre. We would love to call Subway, place our order, hang up, and walk over. By the time we got there, the subs were ready for pick up. Sundays, we would breakfast at BJ Pumpernickel. Boy, do we miss them. Sometimes, we would walk over to Einstein Brothers Bagels.
Wifey would love to go to open houses on Sundays. Sometimes I'd go with her and sometimes not. We were checking out a townhouse in the Cherrywood development when we saw what appeared to be an empty dwelling a few townhouses away. We noticed a piece of paper taped to the screen door. Upon investigation, we found out it was a HUD home and would soon be up for bids. We submitted our bid and presto, we got it. We had to get the back window replaced since there was a hole in it. Some new carpet, a family painting party, and the place looked good as new. We painted the bedrooms, re-did the bathroom, knocked down a wall, got new windows, new kitchen appliances, re-did the basement, got a new heating/ac system, started raising our girls there and then . . . we moved.
We've been in Olney Mill for almost five years. Great place to live, great neighbors. I was just telling my neighbor about our Olney journey. We're glad to be here.

Real Housewives of Olney - Sneak Peek

he e-mails are flying between the ladies trying to schedule the annual Back to School event. The ladies reminisce and remember how this event has evolved over the years.

Coffee and pastries at a home, while the pre-schoolers play. Conversations with complete sentences.

Breakfast out when youngest start pre-school, "We're out!"

When pre-schoolers start all-day school - Quick lunch of every appetizer on the menu. "Real food for lunch, I will never eat another PB&J sandwich again."

Used to all the children being in school - Leisurely lunch. "What teachers do you kids have?" "Mrs. So and So." "Oh no, I hear she is awful."

Oldest children entering middle school and becoming tweens, someone (Patty Party) suggests ordering a glass of wine with lunch. "Cheers"

Older children are starting high school (teen-agers), younger ones starting middle school (tweens) The wine becomes a martini. "Did Johnny pass his driver's test?"

Older children college, younger children in high school, keep the martinis coming. "Another round." We don't need to be home in time for the school bus and we are living with men and teenagers.

What will the ladies talk about this year, check back on Thursday.

Fields of Dreams

Anyone who lives here knows that Olney has so many things to recommend it--for example the "small town" feel, like our Sunday Farmer's Market, complemented by big-city amenities: three (soon to be four) supermarkets and not one, but TWO Starbucks! But our best kept secret may just be...OBGC. Not quite a mile down 108 lies an enormous complex of lush green fields where our children can romp and play (for a small fee, of course) every spring and fall. Baseball, football, soccer, lacrosse--it's a Small Person's Sportsman's Paradise. Starting today, continuing through the (hopefully) crisp days of October, I'll be standing on the sidelines, watching my little socceroos run amok on the well-manicured OBGC grass (my "facility fees" being put to good use, I see). With their teammates, they'll practice not only kicking and passing, but also what I like to think of as Soccer's Life Lessons...Be a good sport. Encourage your fellow players. Help someone up when they fall (or get pushed) down. Try your best. Work together. Have fun, whether you win or lose.

Throw in Gatorade and a tasty snack, and you've got the perfect way to spend some quality family weekend time!

Hoop Dreams

Recently, a free trial hula hoop exercise class was posted on the Olney-Brookeville Exchange and I just had to try it! I've heard that hula hooping is a fabulous cardio workout that tones the core. After arriving at the gym, I chose from a selection of adult-size (42"-44"), weighted (1-2 lbs), shimmering, brightly-taped hoops constructed of sturdy tubing. This equipment was serious -- not your kid's lightweight plastic toy!

After each person selected a hoop suited to her size, the class started with warmup stretches, using the hoop like a ballet barre. We then began spinning, whirling the hoops around our waists, first clockwise, then counterclockwise. I smiled as I twirled away, hoop gliding around my middle. When the instructor told us to try changing positions (i.e. stretching a foot back and bending the knee), however, my hoop gradually began to drop down. And then plop onto the floor. I picked it up and started over. The hoop rolled around my waist, and then slowly sunk to the floor again. The pattern was becoming apparent -- the hoop revolved a bit and then gradually fell to a thud. I may know how to hula hoop straight (in place, not doing much else) but I need to work on variations.

My abdomen began feeling a little sore; yes, that was my core working! Then I noticed my waist feeling a bit itchy. During one of my personal lulls after the hoop clunked to the floor, I surreptitiously pulled up my shirt to peek at my stomach -- which was a light shade of pink! Not to fear -- the instructor and a veteran student reassured me that I was just getting used to the exercise hoops. I gamely twirled on, scratching my stomach and sides when no one was looking (a bit tricky to do while trying to keep a hoop up and rotating).

We finished the session with more stretching and yoga-like stances. This time, we used the hoop to center ourselves, imagining a circle of energy to harness. I ended up leaning on my hoop while lunging into a forward pose. I suddenly thought, 'Uh-oh, what if I break the hoop?!' First the itching, now the cracking (sound of a hoop collapsing under my weight). My hoop dream of smooth spinning would turn into a nightmare of embarrassment! Luckily, the hoop held up and I righted myself before any potential damage. Whew! I gave hula hooping a whirl and had a blast.. without blasting a hoop.

Real Housewives of Olney

Without further ado I would like to introduce you to the Real Housewives of Olney:

Sally Sport - 5'6", 120 lbs., blonde hair, OBGC sweatshirt with comfortable jeans and athletic shoes. Ponytail thread through the back of a Norbeck Country Club baseball cap, light make-up, minimal jewelry. She is a stay at home mom who is never home. She drives a Ford Expedition which is where she spends most of her time. Her motto is, "I am Olney's biggest athletic supporter."

Valerie Volunteer - Short with a few extra pounds, brunette, nice jeans and a cute top, think Ann Taylor Loft. Tasteful jewelry, low heels, neatly applied make-up. Works part-time, is involved in everything from the PTA to the HOA. She is even starting to get involved in local politics. Her motto is, "They couldn't afford to hire me, so I do it for free."

Wendy Walker - Fit and tan, petite and trim. She is usually in fitness wear. Hair is almost always in a ponytail under a baseball cap. Minimal if any make-up and jewelry. She works from home as a consultant. When she is not walking the streets of Olney she is at Fitness First on the cardio machines, in spin class or working out with a personal trainer. Her motto is "I am all about multi-tasking. I can walk the dog, visit with friends, book parties and work out at the same time."

Patty Party - Tall, slim, beautiful and always ready for a party. She is always dressed in the latest fashions with high heels, bling and a new designer bag. Her hair is cut fashionably short and her makeup is expertly applied. She makes an entrance when she walks into a room. She attends everything usually to find out where the party is. She is a full time travel agent. Martini lunches, happy hours, if there are drinks and friends she is there. Her motto is, "If it is happening in the greater Olney area I'm there."

Kelly Knowle - Her motto is "I may not do everything, but I know everything." Kelly is medium height, appropriate weight with medium length brown hair. She wears her hair down as often as she wears it in a ponytail. Her wardrobe is the most diverse of all the housewives with athletic clothes, casual and some more fashionable items. She always looks great, no matter where you run into her. She is a work from home mom. She knows where to be seen and who to talk with to stay in the know.

The Real Housewives of Olney are fictional characters, any resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental. The events and places discussed in this series of blog posts will mostly be real places and real events. I am not reporting on events so creative license will be taken. Let me also say that I have the utmost respect and admiration for all the housewives in Olney who give their time, their talents and their knowledge to make Olney the wonderful place it is. Our children and husbands are lucky to have us and the community we make.

Check back every Thursday (maybe Friday) to find out what the housewives are making happen in our little corner of the world. Note: Cross posted at www.BlogByB.com

Five good years

Yesterday marked the fifth anniversary of the day we purchased our home in Olney. Five years ago we were living in a townhouse in Gaithersburg, I was pregnant with our first child, and the housing market was at its peak. We knew we wanted to capitalize on the gains in the value of our townhouse to get a single-family home, as well as a little more space and quiet. We wanted to stay in Montgomery County, but we knew we could go anywhere.

We chose Olney.

I remember the moment we pulled into the not-yet-ours driveway to look through the house we now live in. The sun was low in the sky and the whole street looked golden. Two or three families were chatting in the middle of the street, and I remember thinking, what a lovely quiet street. It must receive so little traffic if everyone just gathers in the middle like that.

We walked through the home and thought it might be just want we want. We had one other home in mind, one in Rockville, and every feature in this house was compared in our minds against the Rockville address.

This one had a bigger yard. That one had a bigger bathtub. This one had a longer commute. That one had a more congested neighborhood. This one cost more, but that one needed a lot more work. We walked through the rooms again and again, thinking, is this the one? Which house is right for us?

We walked outside in the summer dusk and one of the adults from the conversation on the street called over to us. "So are you going to be our new neighbors?"

"I don't know," I called back. "Should we be?"

"For this street, you have to have kids!" called a second person, gesturing to the crew on bicycles and scooters and blowing bubbles in the last light.

I pointed to my rounding belly. "Four more months," I called out. "We'll have one soon."

"So buy the house!" yelled a third prospective neighbor. "You'll love it here!"

And we did. The strangers who encouraged the most hope-fueled purchase we've ever made are now our friendly neighbors. We had that first baby and added another two kids and we finished the basement. We took out some tree limbs and we chatted over fence posts and bubbles, now blown by our own babes, floating into sunsets.

There's a house down the hill at the end of our street that's for sale now. If we saw any prospective buyers looking about, I'd tell them:

Buy the house. You'll love it here.

For the Love of Olney

When I was growing up Sundays meant dinner with family. One particular Sunday during my junior year in high school my grandmother asked me if I knew anything about an accident in Olney. She said she was driving on Rt. 108 at about 10:30 on Thursday morning and there were a few cars pulled off to the side of the road with someone wrapped in a blanket. She went on to say one of the cars was a candy apple red Mustang convertible that looked just like my car. I assured her I didn't know anything, I was in school at 10:30 on Thursday morning.

I lied. I had taken a friend home to get her homework and I hit a dog. The dog had run into the street right in front of The Olney House (Riccuiti's). Of course I stopped, but someone else did also. They wrapped the dog in a blanket and took it to Town and Country Animal Clinic. After school I went to the clinic and asked Dr. Wendy how the dog was and if they had found the owners. She told me the dog was going to be fine and they had found the owners. She also told me I should not be leaving school during the day, but she wouldn't tell my parents, this time.

Olney has changed. Sunday dinner has been replaced by drinks at the Grille, family has become friends who happen to live close by, but the sense of community found in and around Olney has stayed the same. I know my kids do things they shouldn't do, but I also know there are people like my grandmother and Dr. Wendy who see them doing it.

Olney has made the transition from a family oriented farm town to a community oriented suburb of a major city. There are many reasons and many people who have made this happen, but in the end it is the housewives of Olney who maintain the community that make this such a great place for families.

Given the popularity of Bravo TVs Real Housewives franchise I have decided to begin a series about The Real Housewives of Olney. My plan is to write a new blog post every Thursday looking at Olney through the eyes of the Housewives. I have created 5 fictional characters who I will introduce to you this Thursday. My goal is to keep the series light and fun while celebrating the uniqueness of Olney and those of us who live here.

The Real Housewives of Olney are fictional characters, any resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental. The events and places discussed in this series of blog posts will mostly be real places and real events. I am not reporting facts so creative license will be taken. Let me also say that I have the utmost respect and admiration for all the housewives in Olney who give their time, their talents and their knowledge to make Olney the wonderful place it is. Our children and husbands are lucky to have us and the community we make.

Check back Thursday to meet The Real Housewives of Olney.

running away from home

I was 6 the first time I ran away from home, it wasn’t the only time I would do this, but the memory is clear in my head: The fear and the freedom. Anxiety and exhilaration all wrapped up in a little 6 year old body like a package waiting to be opened. At 6 the idea that I, or anyone for that matter, could exist on their own is laughable, but not to a 6 year old. It was a completely empowering experience, until of course it started raining. But, for those 45 minutes I was free of the tyranny of rules, expectations, consequences, parents! I was my own person, free to do whatever my heart desired. Delusional, I know, but still thrilling. That heady feeling of course can’t last and that realization requires that one grow up a bit. But the appeal of that feeling remains today. I still run away from home occasionally, only now it’s my kids, my husband and even the dog I am escaping. That feeling of freedom isn’t quite the same as when I was six and unlike then, I know now it can’t last. But still, there’s always the next time.

What's in a Name? Part II

Last month, fellow blogger Estelle Yetti noted the OBX listserv's the thread about professionals' ironic surnames (i.e., Dr. Needles, the pediatrician; B. Lawless, the lawyer; Sparky, the electrician). She posed a valid question: "Dr. Butts, the gastroenterologist (that has to be a joke, right?)" That moniker may or may not be true, but at least it is more innocuous than what the proctologist in a Seinfeld episode named his boat and put on his vanity plate: A--man.

Speaking of doctors, my feet have been bothering me; perhaps I'll follow my ballet teacher’s suggestion and see her podiatrist: Dr. Footer.

Witnessing the rise of The Purple Octopus

Twice daily we pass the horse farms on Norwood Road. Twice daily my older daughter (age 4) points out to my younger daughter (age 2): "Horsies!" The younger yells each time: "I see the horsies!"

Twice daily we pass the construction on the old Stained Glass Pub building at the corner of 108 and Georgia. Once, I said to the girls: "look at the construction!" With the next passing, I didn't say anything. When we crossed the intersection again the next morning the older one said to me, "Mama, say to us 'look at the construction, girls!'" And so I do, twice daily.

One morning the girls were being silly and instead of yelling "Horsies" on Norwood the older yelled "Sea turtles!" The younger responded, while pointing to the horses: "I see the sea turtles!" If horses could hear my girls they'd have an identity crisis. Their species classification is now reassigned, twice daily.

Now we watch the walls going up for the new Fair Hill Plaza. I told them that the expansion on the corner will be a new restaurant called The Green Turtle. Each day we inspect the progress and (as I've been instructed) twice daily I ask, "How's the construction coming, girls?"

And twice daily they respond, according to their agreed-upon script: "We see the Purple Octopus!"

A Walk in the Park -- Interrupted

Yesterday I took my kids to Buehler Park to play and brought a novel to read while waiting on a bench. No longer toddlers or preschoolers, my kids do not require much assistance and scrutiny while climbing on the jungle gyms. However, I still sit nearby within earshot to intercept any fighting, to watch for any mishaps, and to scare away any creeps.

I noticed a mother hiking on the bike path that winds around the playground equipment. What a great idea, I thought. My kids are old enough that they don't need me underfoot, so I can get a little exercise too. I put down my book and started striding around the bike path, pumping both arms with a water bottle in each hand. I still could watch my offspring cavorting on the equipment and they could still see me.

Nonetheless, one child came running up to me. Uh-oh, worried because you can't see me? I wondered.

"Oh -- are you going to walk with Mom?" the other kid asked.

"No, I'm getting Mom to stop marching before everyone else notices!"

Transported to a different place

Today I took my daughters, their friend, and my niece to try out the new Sandy Spring Adventure Park. I only just learned about it from a confusing exchange on the OBX when I thought we were talking about the similarly new "Go Ape" place at Lake Needwood. Watching the girls traverse the ropes, bridges, and zip lines through the gangle of tall trees, I felt like I was transported to another place. They've done an amazing job with the Park. Just down the street from Olney, right off of Norwood Road, next to Sandy Spring Friends School -- you'd think you were in Costa Rica! (okay, maybe not). Interestingly, I happened to hear a woman who was there with her two kids negotiating with the Park manager for a special rate for home school kids. Wow! Climbing trees as part of your school day? I'm not telling my kids..

Pool Pals

You meet the nicest people at the pool. The last time I was sitting on the side when a young man- about high school freshman age came up to me. He extended his hand and asked if I was from a certain Latin-American country. I told him not that one, my parents are from Peru. They have good food he told me. We spoke for a bit and then he froze up, whipped out his cell phone and proceeded to text a response to the text he just received. I sat there watching him as he muttered out loud his response. "True that. I'll hit you back later." and some other words I could not make out. He took about a minute, thumbs flying, to compose his text. And I just sat there wondering, Do I wait? Excuse myself? Make a break for it and jump in the 2 foot section? He finished and we resumed talking. I couldn't help but feel like I was on calling waiting live, in person face to face.
Another time, my girls and I were in the pool when a little girl swam up to us and introduced herself. We said hello and told her our names. She told us her age which fell between the ages of my daughters. She asked if she could play/swim with us and we said sure. It was for just that session and then the whistle blew for adult swim. We would see her on occasion and the last time she wanted to join us while we were playing our family game. Of course, I invited her. While my girls felt like their time with me was compromised, I explained that this was a nice and simple thing to do. I found out from the girl that her older sister brings her to the pool. Where is she now? I asked. Over there hanging out with those boys. So why not hang out with this girl? She wanted the attention. Haven't seen her in a while though. You just meet the nicest people at the pool....

Lopeless Near Laytonsville

I strive to expand my palate by sampling new kinds of fruits. Yesterday while driving eastbound on Route 108, I slowed down to avoid being ticketed by a speed camera and noticed a local produce stand's handwritten signs. One read: "Lopes 2 for $5." Lopes, I pondered, what are lopes? Hmm -- must be some exotic fruit.

Intrigued, this morning I drove back to the fruit stand, parked, strode up to the two salespeople and enthusiastically inquired, "What's a lope? I'd like to try one!"

Their brief pause before answering me gave me pause... uh-oh, did I pronounce it incorrectly?

The lady cheerfully replied, "Oh, lopes are cantaloupes." She smiled. I smiled back sheepishly.

The kind young man sympathetically added, "Another person once asked me, 'What are lopez [pronounced as in Jennifer Lopez]?' "

I nodded, selected and paid for white nectarines, then shuffled back to my car ... lopeless, but a little more learned in fruit lingo.

Dream Big

Periodically on the OBX we have a hypothetical discussion about what we'd like to see come to Olney. A movie theatre, you say? (well, we did have one for awhile), A bowling alley? Trader Joes? A Teen Center? Skating Rink? Panera's? Red Robin? Green Turtle? (oh, that is coming), Book Store? (been there), Craft Store (done that). This helps some of us feel like we actually have a say in what happens to our community. The truth of the matter is, it's the politicians, the developers, or the franchiser that has the power. But boy it feels good to dream, doesn't it?

For residents who've lived in this area back when it was the place in the country where you came to buy farm fresh eggs or that special salsa at Good Earth, they want to know where their sleepy little town went. For newer residents, yeah, it can be nice to live in this hideaway enclave far from the hustle and bustle of the city where the kids can roam free (no comment), but give me my convenient shopping and Starbucks!! I would hate to be an urban planner. Sheesh! What a job!

To the dreamers, keep dreaming! Make it happen! Talk to some movers and shakers who can help shape Olney - perhaps not as the sleepy town anymore but not as Rockville Pike either. How many gas stations, banks, fastfood restaurants, grocery stores, and pet stores does one little town need?? Good question.

The nature problem

Though we both work several miles south, when I was pregnant with our first child and we wanted to buy a house we were drawn to Olney. We loved the wide, green yards and imagined our family running through sprinklers in the grass. Now we have three kids and a wide green yard and a sprinkler at the end of the hose line but the yard -- nothing really prepared us for a yard to mean anything more than grass.

I'm a city-raised girl and this nature stuff that accompanies the grass, it's really pushing the limits of my comfort. The squirrels are eating my tomatoes and discarding tomato skins in the kiddie pool and an enormous cicada is trying to commit suicide against the panes of the sliding glass door as I type and the bunny rabbits that my daughters find so adorable, I think they're in cahoots with the squirrels. My strawberry plants are de facto just strawberry-leaf plants and I didn't really feel like sharing.

Where I grew up in New York we had bugs, of course. We had crickets. They were little and they chirped and they stayed in the bushes outside. When we moved to Maryland and found ourselves in the company of  the local enormous-to-us field crickets, we didn't know what they were. We called them jumping spiders for a year. We knew about the property taxes in Olney; we didn't know about all of the nature stuff that would come to us along with our big, green yard.

That obstinate cicada hasn't found its way inside yet but all evening I've been trying to capture a field cricket that's been chirping in the kitchen. We never hung curtains on the kitchen windows because we love the wide, private view of our big, green yard and I use the little brass hooks that once held the cafe curtain rods to store the baby's bibs. Somewhere in one of those bib pockets is a loud and lonely field cricket. Every time I approach he goes stealth quiet and impossible to locate and when I walk away he cheep cheeps again.

So the truth is, as much as I love the look of our big yard so much suburban nature is capable of completely unnerving me. There's a jumping spider singing in the kitchen and I know I'll hear it mocking me when I try to sleep tonight.

At least the grass looks good.

Game Theory of Wedding Anniversaries

Yesterday, my husband forgot our 12th wedding anniversary -- but I'm fine, because I won. Over the years, our wedding anniversaries have evolved into games of Chicken (two drivers careen towards each other on a collision course, waiting for the other to swerve first; one must swerve or both may die in the crash, but the first to swerve is the "chicken"). We wait for the other spouse to say "Happy Anniversary!" (HA!) first in order to see if s/he even remembers the anniversary. If by noontime no one has said anything, then (in a perversion of Chicken) the first spouse to HA! the second spouse wins and the second spouse is exposed as having forgotten the wedding anniversary in the first place. Yes, the strategy of the Chicken Wedding Anniversary game is to hold out and therefore test the other spouse's memory before saying HA!, but not for too long; otherwise, you look like the loser who overlooked this special day.

For our 1st anniversary, my husband and I raced to be the first person to gush HA! No silly mind games like Chicken for newlyweds. On our 2nd anniversary and isolated at home with a colicky baby, I phoned my husband at his office in the afternoon and asked, "Do you remember what day this is?" Silence on the other end. I won that first round of Chicken.

During the ensuing years, our record was fairly even; I'd forget some years and he'd forget other years -- but one of us was always the winner. On our 9th anniversary, we both lost. At Disney World, we spotted an elderly couple with adorable matching Disney-issued Wedding Anniversary Pins, cooed at the cuteness... and then looked at each other with quizzical expressions, "Wait, isn't our anniversary around now ... uh... it's today?! HA!" That evening, my husband purchased a cartoon wedding anniversary card, and then told me to save it for the following year.

He more than made up for the card on our 10th anniversary. After a whole day without a single HA!, my husband presented me with an eternity ring. I reciprocated with two marriage joke books from the MGH Women's Board Used Book Sale. No one lost this round of Chicken, although my husband definitely won in the gift selection department.

This year I played the Chicken Wedding Anniversary game coolly -- I waited until noon and called him, reached his voice mail and left him a message: a mundane question about the car and, oh by the way, HA! An hour later he buzzed back and admitted that he hadn't remembered our anniversary until listening to my message. However since he was in San Francisco, it was still morning for him and therefore technically he hadn't lost; in Olney I had already crossed into the afternoon. Despite these time zone differences, I think I still won. HA!

"Smells Like Home"

Just goes to show you that you can take your kids out of Olney but you can't take Olney out of your kids. Hopefully, that's a good thing. We had been away at the New York beaches for a week taking in the smells of surf, sun, sand and lobster rolls. As we were getting close to home, my daughter says, "Mom, roll down the windows. I want to smell the air." Strange request, I thought. But as I did, she says, "Ah, smells like home."

Timing for Snacks

With swim team season now over, I can reveal my true motive for timing my kids' meets: access to free "Officials' Refreshments." While I enjoy unobstructed views of the swimmers from my poolside perch, I believe the genuine perk of being a timer is chowing down on free munchies during the mid-meet break. In fact, I'll keep my stopwatch dangling around my neck just so I can stride up to the refreshment table and unabashedly nosh on the spread without looking like a freeloader.

All pools offer cold bottled water to prevent timers, judges, referees, etc. from falling in the pool from heatstroke; however, each pool provides different treats. Norbeck Grove, for example, recently expanded its menu from vanilla Oreo cookies and mini-cinnamon rolls (at regular meets) to chocolate striped shortbread cookies, regular-size cinamon buns and watermelon slices (at last weekend's Divisional championships). Another pool served Planters Cocktail Peanuts and sweet breakfast pastries -- a yummy combination of salty and sweet!

The winner of Best Officials' Refreshments Award goes to a swim club outside of Olney (practically in PG county), which has offered hummus, grapes, veggie wraps, and M & M's; at a recent meet, this pool reaffirmed its award-winning status by serving panini sandwiches (your choice of roast beef, chicken or ham -- all topped with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and assorted condiments), pickles, potato chips, watermelon, soda and Italian ice. As soon as the mid-meet break started, I twirled my stopwatch around my fingers as best I could -- even though it was still hanging around my neck -- and casually but quickly strolled over to the beloved "Officials' Refreshments" table for a bite.

A timer's pinnacle achievement is the triple: when all three timers in the same lane achieve the same exact time, down to the hundredth of a second. After obtaining a triple, my fellow timers and I whoop in glee before remembering to tell the swimmer his or her time. At Norbeck Grove, a triple is rewarded with an announcement over the loudspeaker and ... a chocolate bar. Eating a melting (but much appreciated) chocolate bar while sipping from a water bottle and timing a race is tricky, but worth it! Alas, the joys of being a timer must wait until next summer's swimming season.

Expressions of hatred

I’ve been thinking a lot about the recent incident of vandalism at B’Nai Shalom of Olney. I’ve seen many adjectives used to describe how different people feel about this incident, from ‘saddened’ to ‘horrified’. But I haven’t seen one person who appears shocked or even surprised that this happened. Is this what’s wrong with our society? Have we come to expect not just the hate, but the expression of hate in such a public way? I have tried to process how I feel about this incident. This kind of racist/religious hatred is a form of terrorism. The people who commit crimes like this want us to be afraid. They want us to think that someone is out to get us. It is both heinous and cowardly to act out in this way. I choose to believe that it is also an expression of fear on the part of the individuals involved. Fear of the unknown, fear of those who are different, fear that they themselves are not “good enough”. They seek to degrade anything or anyone that doesn’t look like they do. It makes them feel stronger, more powerful and in control. Now, I’m all about control – real control is power in its rawest form. But I also believe that we get to choose whether or not to give up our power and to whom. I don’t know how to stop attacks like these. I believe in peaceful coexistence with all people. I applaud the leadership at B’Nai Shalom for their quiet, quick and community inclusive response. When we stand together as a common people, united by a desire for peace and understanding, regardless of race or religion, we take back some of that power. We cannot live in fear; we will not be swayed from our beliefs by the hatred of others. We may not be shocked or surprised, but if we continue to respond as a peaceful, united community we will be stronger than those who hate.

The (Unsuccessful) Time Travelers' Mother

"No TV/Computer Monday July 19 through Tuesday July 27!" With this clever ban in effect at my house, I can kill two birds with one stone: sibling warfare and screen addiction (sometimes occurring at the same time). Here's how my parental ingenuity has been faring so far:

MONDAY 7/19: I decreed to my two daughters that they could not watch TV or play on the computer as a result of persistent sibling squabbling and endless whining for screen time. In order to learn how to talk through their disagreements, they would have discuss their concerns with each other without any yelling, pinching, slapping, shoving, etc. For every yelp of "Mom! She --" I would extend the ban for another day. By Monday night, the girls found an electronic-entertainment-free truce.

TUESDAY 7/20: Continued peace -- I should have thought of this ban earlier. Was this too good to be true? How long would this civil and electronics-free atmosphere last?

WEDNESDAY 7/21: At the computer in the basement, I heard the kids up in the family room amicably chatting, helping each other with homework and practicing piano. I noticed upstairs had grown quiet but figured that the girls were reading. After about an hour, my older daughter suddenly appeared at the door ... wearing what looked to be a change of clothes. "Can we watch TV?" she asks gingerly.

"Is it Wednesday, July 28? Look at the calendar," I answered barely looking up from the monitor.

"Why yes it is, Mom," my strangely smiling firstborn replied.

Happy for break, I stood up and climbed upstairs, all the while insisting that today was still Wednesday July 21.

My younger daughter greeted me in the family room -- in a change of clothes. The family room, which earlier that morning had been strewn with laundry, books, and detris from a latch-hook rug craft kit, was pristine. I marched over to the calendar on our refrigerator to point out the correct date when... I noticed the red marker had been moved one week ahead from July 21 to July 28. The "July 21" I wrote on the dry-erase board had been altered to "July 28." Olney's weather forecast for the day was rewritten. "Swim team" disappeared and "tennis camp" (next week's activity) appeared.

Apparently, the girls did learn a lesson from my ban -- how "discuss their concerns" well enough to negotiate a collaborative plot to circumvent the ban. Alas, this would-be time travelers' mother was not fooled.

Later when I couldn't find my wristwatch, the younger partner in crime piped up, "Oh -- I know where it is. We tried to change the date but it didn't work so we hid it." Right before they went up to bed, I found the latch-hook rug kit in the downstairs bathroom. "What is this doing here?" I called.

A voice from upstairs replied, "Oh, I hid it there when we cleaned up the family room."

FRIDAY 7/23: Today the ban still in force. This morning, the older daughter posed an interesting question: "What if someone asks me to see a movie?" I'll have to handle that if/when that occurs. Uh -- I heard BANG upstairs followed by "Mom! She--"; I may have to extend the ban yet another day.

What's in a Sir Name?

There was a funny string on the OBX listserv about people's sir names and their chosen profession. I mean, how hard was it for Dr. Brush to decide to be a dentist or Dr. Foot to decide to be a podiatrist? There were many others: Dr. Needles, the pediatrician; B. Lawless, the lawyer; Dr. Spot, the dermatologist; Dr. Slaughter, the surgeon (okay, I don't care how good he/she is, I don't think I'd go there); Dr. Corn, the podiatrist; Sparky, the electrician; Dr. Pinns, the pediatrician, Dr. Butts, the gastroenterologist (that has to be a joke, right?); Dr. Katz, the veterinarian; Dr. Glassman, the opthamologist; Dr. Brain, the psychiatrist; and Dr. Sicklick, the dentist.

I wish our family had one of those names that conveyed our destiny. Then it would be easier for my 14 year old daughter to pick her vocation. Hey, there's no time to waste. According to Sherwood H.S. orientation, she needs to predict her future now - at 14 - so she can get the right classes, so colleges will accept her...Poor thing. Afterwards she said, "But mom, I don't know what I want to be!" I told her not to worry, there was still time.

A California Tortilla Breakfast

California Tortilla must really miss me. They sent me an email to prove it. Hey Rich, we haven't seen you in awhile. Come around and we'll give you a free taco. Can't beat that. So, I went out with the girls after we made a trip to the Maxx- just to look around. The girls reminded me that I did not need another pair of Timberland sunglasses. And I reminded them they did not need another pony/kitty/jungle/ in my pocket toy. Then, it was off to Cali Tort. It was packed and as we considered what to get I also wondered where we'd sit. I usually get the nacho chili bowl with the chips and queso combo. But lo, it was not on the menu. I asked if they still had it and was told they could make me one. Great, hold the jalapenos. Hand over my burrito card for the points and I'm told that I get the free taco, what kind would you like? Um... I went with beef. The first born daughter asked if we're getting it to go. No, we'll find a place even if we have to sit outside. And look, a table opened up for us. Nab it and get our drinks. They call our number and there's our food. I forget how filling the chips, shots of Cherry Coke, and oh yeah, a chili bowl can be. There sat the poor uneaten taco. Time to look good to the wifey. Text- Got a free taco, want it? I could drop it off at her office- conveniently in Olney. No thanks, she texts back. I'm already eating. Well, this baby isn't going to waste. I mean my father was way into us cleaning our plates to the extent of posting a picture in our dining room of a starving kid with a swollen belly. So, I wrapped it up and took it home. The next morning, looking for something to eat for breakfast, I remembered the taco wrapped up in its foil and transported home in the empty chips bag. I think I dreamt about having it for breakfast last night. Twenty seconds nuked away and it was good to go. Taco for breakfast? the wifey asks. I can't even watch you eat that. Sure, why not. I'm a guy, we eat cold pizza, Chinese leftovers (come on, don't we?) for breakfast.
It's all good and I wash it down with sips of Cherry coke, because, of course I had to refill it before I left Cali Tort. Maybe next summer, it will be a Chipotle breakfast...

How Hard Is It to Remember Your Reusable Bags?

Apparently, very hard. Several times a week I go to the supermarket (any one of the dozen in Olney). I tuck my resusable bags nicely in their place in the car. I look over at them lovingly while I'm driving. I park my car. I walk in. I shop. I walk out. I open my trunk to install my groceries, and what do I find? My beautiful reusable bags sitting helplessly in their place!!! This is ridiculous! I'm smart. I'm educated. I can juggle work and family. Surely I can remember to bring in my reusable bags!!! I even get a cost savings for using my bags! Alas, I have failed miserably at this. I don't know what it's going to take for me to remember. Perhaps I can suggest to the new Harris Teeter that they put up a really big sign above their door, "REMEMBER YOUR REUSABLE BAGS."

California Dreamin'

My husband and I began the arduous process of househunting 11 years ago, from our rented condo in Bethesda (where we knew we couldn't afford to continue living!). We wanted to stay in Montgomery County, preferably in a city or at least a town setting (since we had grown incredibly spoiled by being able to walk to restaurants, stores, etc). So I put him in charge of narrowing down our options. When he had done some research, he reported back with: Olney. "Olney?" I gasped, mildly horrified, "isn't that in the middle of nowhere?"

Now,  I grew up in Monrovia--serious Frederick County cow-country. I found out later by driving to my parents' house that it's only about a half-hour from here, yet somehow I thought Olney was some tiny, distant speck on the map, difficult to get to and containing nothing but...farms or something.  How wrong I was. As soon as my husband pointed out that there was a Starbucks (within walking distance from our potential neighborhood, no less), I realized that in fact Olney would do very nicely. It was fairly quiet and peaceful, a little bit out-of-the-way of the Rockville/Gaithersburg hubbub, but only a short drive to pretty much anything you wanted to see or do, including both D.C. and Baltimore (bonus!).

Of course, life in suburbia is changing a bit these days. It used to be that the most commotion you could expect on a regular basis was a loud siren from the Sandy Spring Fire Department, or perhaps a military helicopter zooming overhead on its way to official business. But now we are treated to ICC construction--seemingly from all around us--with the related noise and dust and heavy-equipment and cones and flagmen. Traffic seems to have gotten a little slower, the roads a little more congested. And then, to really shake things up (pun intended : ) in this semi-sleepy little town, we got to experience: an earthquake. What the heck is up with that? After the initial shock (and excitement, if I'm being completely honest!) wore off, I found myself thinking "hmm...we have traffic...we have earthquakes...are we trying to emulate Southern California?" (if so, I'd like to throw in my vote for: "no" to mudslides and wildfires, but "yes" to Star Sightings...especially if, say, Bradley Cooper shows up in our local Starbucks!)

You Never Seem to Leave Home....

While traveling in Colorado earlier this month, my family and I could not stop marveling at how different everything was -- the climate, the terrain, the scenery, etc. While Olney residents were boiling in soupy and scorching heat, we enjoyed temperatures in the 70's with below-40% humidity. Driving through the vast green pastures (with live cows, horses, elk and other generally large brown mammals) against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains, I was shocked to discover our car was traveling more than 70 miles per hour when it looked like we were moving only about 30 miles per hour. Traveling more than 30 miles per hour down Route 108 (when traffic is actually moving) would be a very different experience, with people and buildings whizzing by, speed cameras flashing and tickets awaiting. Yes, I felt my "Rocky Mountain High" but was quickly brought back to Earth by the ubiquitous American phenomenon -- the chain restaurant.

Of course the Golden Arches, Chipolte, Pizza Hut and the like are unavoidable anywhere, but I thought we were eating a little off the beaten path when I settled into my booth at the Hard Rock Cafe in Denver (the only other Hard Rock Cafe I had visited was in Beijing). I told myself, "Wow, we're really experiencing something new and different"... until I discovered that there are Hard Rock Cafes in Baltimore and DC. Compounding this feeling of never really leaving home was our waiter who is from (drumroll)... Wheaton, MD. No, he's not from Olney (which would be too cute of a coincidence) but he did play baseball on the fields on Route 108. And he met his future wife woman in Colorado; she was originally from Burtonsville, MD.

What really drove home my seeming inability to escape from Maryland was Hooters. No -- we don't patronize this fine establishment when we are home (although Hooters boasts 10 locations in the DC area, according to their website, not my own experience). My husband and I joked about trying "something new and different" and eating with our kids at Hooters but decided against it. My 10-yr-old daughter asked me what was so special about Hooters (besides their children's menu, which yes, they do have!). When I described the waitresses' attire and physique, she wrinkled her nose and wondered, "Maybe they have a beach theme. But why aren't there any men on the beach too?"

Goggle Sense

It's pool time and when we arrive at the Olney Mill Swim Club (Go Otters!) I remind the girls to use their "goggle sense." Of course they look at me, say huh? so I tell them the origin behind the saying. When I was in junior high, in the great state of New Jersey, I took a class called Metal Shop in 8th grade. The teacher was Mr Iacavone, a former Marine. He was tough on us, a class of all boys. We would work on projects involving cutting, filing, and working with metal to create such fabulous objects as the dullest bottle opener you can imagine and the way cool smooth ring- both of which I still have. Mr. Iacavone was all about safety and would bark at us primarily to remember two things, Always use your common sense and always wear your goggles. At the end of the period we would have to return our goggles to a special white cabinet that he would close, lock and would sterilize the goggles. A blue light would come on to indicate that it was in sterilization process. "Don't stare at that light! If you look at that light for more than ten seconds you'll go blind!" That was Mr Iacavone's warning. Really? I thought and I would go up and stare at the light and count out loud for ten seconds. Pretty soon, there was line of kids waiting to stare at the light. No loss of vision, but maybe that's why I have poor eyesight. At the end of the course, Mr. Iacavone gave us a final exam which everyone failed except for me. I got a D. Mr. Iacavone was furious with us and would read out loud some of the answers that we put down. This was in the late 70s and I'm sure would not be best practice in today's classroom.
Now there was one student named Kevin that our teacher referred to as "dingbat." "Listen to what dingbat wrote." It was for a sentence completion, Always use your (Blank) sense. Kevin had inserted goggles. Always use your goggle sense. We all laughed, Kevin turned beet red, and the saying was born.
So now, that's what I tell the girls before they get in the pool. And they chuckle or smile. Of course we have a half dozen in our pool bag-extras from my many attempts to find one that fits my big head without compressing it. Still remember to use my goggle sense, Mr. Iacavone.