A day in the mountains, before the rain. A hike and some boulder climbs, and some river stone hops.

Looking for treasures…

Something dropped.

Something found.

A smile.

A chase.

And a rest.

Thunder. Then it rained.

With rivers of top-soil run-off and muddy shoes. Smoke-grey without the smoke but angry and cold for an August Saturday.

It rained and we ran through the leaves and between the boulders to get inside.

And we made an afternoon of summer storm memories.

I’ve grown up worried about being left behind.

I always felt like I couldn’t keep up…

with the money spent on clothes.
with my best friend’s new friend.
with the kids who had cars.
with the ones whose parents let them do whatever they wanted.

And its hard, because every kid wants to blend in. And I always caught the dust of everyone who ran faster.

Even when I met my husband almost 16 years ago, it was hard to keep up with him. With all his fire and verve, and my quiet and need for stable solitude, I even felt left out with him. We must have been destined to be together because somehow it happened. And I still usually have to take two steps to his one.

The clothes and the cars don’t make me feel left behind anymore. Now it is the social awareness and the article publishing, the things I should have under-my-belt by now. Everyone seems to moving faster than me and it’s hard not to eat dust.

Do I spend $200 on new running shoes with speed sewn into the heels or do I simply walk and jog the only way I know how?

I’m realizing maybe this is why I blog. This is why I run. Maybe this is even why I write.

Because these are stable and quiet and solid. I do them alone, usually. I don’t have to keep up with anyone else, unless I choose to enter a 5K or a writing contest.

I’m never left behind as long as I keep moving forward.

Confidently, quietly and maybe even a little slow.

I hope that this is me.

I hope it is never said that I am different in normal life than I portray myself here.

And I hope it is more of a snapshot, rather than a posed, coiffed, say-cheese kind of photo. I try to make my “picture” of my life as candid as possible.

Because if you only read my blog and have never met me, all you know is what you read. Or what you hear me say on a video. You know about me, and you know about my family, but you don’t really know me. Not really.

You’ve never seen me at the end of the afternoon when I’m wearing my grossest sweat pants and dirty socks, and my t-shirt from my workout earlier in the day. You’ve never seen lettuce in my teeth or seen me bite my nails. You’ve never heard me ask my girls 4 times to clean up the same room and listen as my voice escalates to a near scream. You don’t know our family mantra is “Never Get Sued”.

But you know that my kids’ playroom is usually a disaster, and that my pantRies are chaotic. You do know that my battle with weight will probably be life long and that my marriage, although solid now, has had more than it’s share of bruises. You know that I used to be a nerd (oh, I think I still might be) and that I have had trouble making and keeping close friends. You know that me keeping a food journal is way harder than I thought it would be this time around, and I am still working out the “discipline” aspect of my food issues.

I try, as much as is in good taste, to be honest. And open. And real.

Like when I talked to Mandy for the first time the other night. I knew her voice. I knew it was her before she said who it was. Her little Georgian accent is beyond cute. She’s real. And open. And honest.

What you read is what you get.

I know this is me. These blog posts. And someday, when blogging in it’s current form has lasted past it’s sell-by date, then I’ll have to find another medium to share “me” with you.

I’m not really a believer in karma. Not in the traditional, Eastern form of it.

I don’t believe that we plunk good tokens as deposits in a karmic piggy bank trying to even out any bad tokens that we’ve put there ourselves or that have been left over from a past existence. Not at all.

I am more of a believer in doing the right thing because it is, well, right. I believe that we should be kind and loving because Christ is our example and that appropriate consequences follow actions.

However, a well-meaning mother at the park today told me that my youngest daughter had “sharing karma.”

Not sure what that is. I do know that Naomi had brought sand toys to the playground and had (in a rare moment of thoughtful quiet play) sat down to dig in the sand. Another two-year-old girl (we found out was named “Chloe”) decided to play with the toys (that were not hers), and then claim to all within hearing that they WERE hers. Naomi whined a little when the other child took her shovel, her face crinkled up when she took her bucket and looked to me to help with Chloe finally took the rake, but Naomi didn’t grab back.

Not enough toys, too many children. Usually my little one has the grabby hands, but today, it was Chloe who was the selfish one.

Naomi tried to bargain. She began to use all of the tricks in her brand new getting-along-with-others repertoire:

1. “Let’s trade?” (No, okay…)
2. “How about taking turns?” (Alright, no…)
3. “I guess I’ll cry…”(which is what she did)

Luckily, Chloe’s mother was much more apologetic and attentive than other mothers I’ve run into recently. I told her that it was okay, and that toys at the playground are for sharing. Plus, she had a four-week-old strapped to her chest, so I gave her and her grabby-Chloe some extra grace: I directed Naomi to play on something else and got a few extra toys from the car.

A little later, as we were leaving, Chloe’s mom was grateful for letting her toddler play with the shovel and bucket. She smiled at me and told me that she was positive my daughter had “sharing karma.”

I thanked her and held Naomi’s hand as we walked toward the car. I wasn’t about to get into the whole God-holding-the-whole-world-in-balance-so-there-is-no-need-for-karma thing. Too much for a weekday morning.

I am convinced that sharing doesn’t give us good tokens for our piggy bank. But what it does do, is gives us practice for the real world:

When she’s 2, she’ll have to share her toys.
At 4, she’ll share the books at preschool.
When she’s 7 she’ll have to share the jump ropes on the playground.
At 10, she’ll learn to share her friends.
When she’s 14, she’ll let her sister go to college, and share her with the world.
And when she’s 18, she’ll (hopefully) have learned to share her heart.

Karma, no. Learning how to do the right thing, yes.

I started missing him before he even left the house.

Its weird. About six years ago, my husband had a job that necessitated a lot of travel. For about a year he travelled up to San Jose 3 weeks out of every month from Tuesday to Thursday or Friday. He maintained this schedule for a long time and it wreaked havoc on our already fragile marriage (but that is entirely another series of posts). Since we’ve owned our own business, he hasn’t had to travel at all, at least not without us.

This video is a little dark.

I guess that is what I get for buying a cheap, off-brand camera to shoot videos. Oh, and making it at night with only the lamp beside my bed on.

But there are three things…

1. The video is really short (52 seconds).
2. You get to meet my cat. Yes, this little dear thing that once murdered a lizard in my house.

Meet Rosie the Cat from Sarah Markley on Vimeo.

And No. 3?
3. I did lose (just a little) but I did lose.

I’ve been to Disneyland a million times.

Not really a million, but pretty darn near that. I grew up in Southern California and my parents took us once a year on Christmas Eve. I remember “ticketed” rides and being left with the dud ones at the end of the day that were only good for Dumbo or Peter Pan.

And for the past 12 years, we’ve lived within 10 miles from the park. We’ve had annual passes on and off for about 8 years and we’ve known employees who can “walk us in”. We’ve witnessed the building of the largest parking structure in the US, the disappearance of pedestrian forms of entry into the park (you must park in the structure and board a tram now to get in), and the birth of Disney’s California Adventure park.

Disneyland is not NEW to me.

But when I took my biggest girl there last week all by our big-girl selves, we did a couple things I’ve never done before.

I can’t tell you why I’ve never actually ridden the Columbia, Disney’s resident Pirate Ship. Its been there forever. But last Monday we did. We ran up the stairs and jumped on board just before they pushed off from the dock. We made it, and ventured down into the hull to view “captain’s quarters” and other fascinating piratey things. As many times as I’ve been to Disney I had never been inside the Columbia.

And we actually saw Jack Sparrow. Really.

We also took the canoe rides. My parents would never take us, even though we’d beg as teenagers and preteens…please let us go on the canoes. All the cool kids are doing it…

Now I know why my parents never caved. Maybe it was their sixth sense of wise parenting that I never inherited, or maybe they were just opposed to getting on something that actually might tip into the lagoon, but regardless, I had never been on the canoes until Monday. It was fun up until we actually got on.

I sat behind a canoe-zealot who was accompanied by 3 kids all a little older than Hope. He yelled at them to keep rowing, even though the canoe guide told us to take a break. They obeyed him because he was scary. I obeyed him because he was scary.

He just wanted to be done with the “ride” (no doubt another parent who did not want to be there) and therefore thought if he rowed HARDER, FASTER and SPLASHIER, we’d be back quicker. It didn’t happen that way. In fact, I just got really wet. Really wet.

But my lagoon-dripping face isn’t the point. The point is that my oldest daughter had the time of her life on Monday and that I did a few things that I had never done before.

Maybe I rode the canoes because I was holding on to an adolescent grudge against my parents or maybe because they actually looked fun for a minute (before splashy-paddle-zealot man got in the boat).

Or maybe it was because my daughter actually inspires me to try new things, even if I’ve been there a million times before.

If you are on facebook, add me as a friend and join my blog network (only if you want).

Click here for my profile.

Click here for my blog network.

So far, I am my only fan. And I think that is hilarious. I guess I am funnier than I thought.

I’ll be posting my weigh-in video on Monday morning. Have a good weekend!!

I’ve been inducted into the sisterhood of Polly Pockets and Little Ponies by two little girls who would rather play with me than with anyone else.

At least for now.

Teensy.

Tiny.

Bitty worlds created in bedrooms out of scraps of cloth, handmade quilts and pillows from the beds. Miniature horses and dolls (some without heads or arms) play rodeo or princess castle in the bottoms of closets or behind short “fences” made of storybooks.

Mama, come play with us. Come see what we’ve made.

I kneel down, lay down, remembering I need to vacuum the carpet and witness up close a day’s worth of dirt on sticky toes and watercolor-stained fingers. I come down to live with them in their little world.

Their tiny universe that is as big as the afternoon is, as big as the sky outside the upstairs window is, as big as the patch of grass in the backyard. To them. They don’t even have the context to compare their world to

a year

a sunrise,

or a meadow…

And who am I to expand that? They’ve invited me into their world, their afternoon where they can make the rules. “That little horse is the baby. She needs a mommy. That doll is the teacher. She can live behind this gate.” I make no rules or demands in this galaxy contained completely on the floor of a little girl’s bedroom.

And most days I make them live in mine: my errands, my living room, my kitchen, my plans…

So when they invite me to learn the names of their dolls, when they invite me into their tiny sisterhood, I accept. Because I love them but also because I know something they don’t know: that their tiny world will disappear soon enough and will be forgotten for

years,

new sunsets

and the expanse of the unexplored world.