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the real Harmony Shelene Child Roundy...or is it?
Me, just before getting pregnant with Serenne, gaining 70
lbs., becoming hypothyroid
and losing all control over my life. This is still the real me in my head. Hopefully, someday… in real life too. 5’9” 135-140 lbs. |
I guess I’m abandoning roundeo.com. True, there weren’t many
who seemed to care whether I ever posted anything or not, and I haven’t added
anything to it in over a year, but I had always figured on returning. It
saddens me. I suppose it is nostalgia, and that my history is written and
recorded there of a significant portion of my life, and my extended family and friends
have posted and responded there, and my husband’s blood, sweat and tears
created it. But I guess I feel like a fresh start. How I wish fresh starts came
so easily in every other area of life.
I wish I had time to blog. To record my life in a journal. (And
to do so very many other things!!)
If I had time to blog:
I would tell you about each one of my precious children. How
much I adore them and love them and how unique and fun they each are, their
distinct personalities, unique gifts and challenges, and the every day moments
that make up our lives together. I would tell you that Motherhood has been the
greatest accomplishment and biggest fail of my life. I would tell you how much
I wish I could be the mother in my head that does everything, or mostly
everything, right, and how frustrating and overwhelming it is to fall short
over and over…and over.
I would tell you that I wish I knew what God wanted of me.
If what I’m doing is enough, if where I’m at is where I’m supposed to be. Is
there more inside me that’s meant to come out, that’s meant to be expressed,
explored, pursued, capitalized? Or is this struggling pile of person whose life
looks a bit like groundhog day, doing all she can and is meant for? Do I have a
calling beyond motherhood? And if so, what the heck is it?
I would tell you that I’m sometimes not even sure who I am
or what I want. That I feel a bit like Alice in a wonderland, only with less
fanciful creatures and garish colors, and more laundry piles. I would tell you
how odd it can be to be a person people never suspect of having insecurities
because she’s uninhibited, extroverted, expressive and opinionated. Of how it
can be hard not to be misunderstood when you struggle to understand yourself. I’d
recommend and discuss the self-help books I’ve read and want to read. I’d tell
you how odd too it is to look in the mirror and feel deeply that that person
isn’t really you. That the real you is at least 30 lbs. smaller, with less
premature signs of aging, and a nice head of hair. About how much I long to
open up the boxes labeled “skinny clothes” and slip them on like a glove.
I would tell you of my longing for more; more quality family
time, more dates with my husband, more harmony in our home, more dedication to
the Lord, more time management skills, more love for all of God’s children,
more desire to serve and help and lift, more patience and calm, more
self-discipline, more doing, more being, more living, more volunteering at
school, more time reaching out to family and friends, more time for all the projects
in my head, more money, more or better stuff (a new mattress, a bike trailer, a
trampoline), more books read, more gratitude, more self-love & acceptance,
more order, more smiling & laughing, more hair on my head, more beach, more playing with my kids, more energy.
And less; less fat on my body, less pain, less time wasted, less
conflict and struggle, less yelling, less laundry, less need and want for
things, less clutter, much much less clutter, less laundry, less mess, less concern for
things that don’t matter, less frowning, less laundry.
I’d tell you how much I miss people. I miss old times. I
miss old places. I miss travel. How I feel I’ve let people down, and let
distance win. How I miss Switzerland and speaking French and hearing my
children speak French. How it feels, like I knew it would, almost like it never
happened, or it didn’t matter. That it was just a dream. How I miss the shape
our lives had taken there, the order and simplicity we seemed to have arrived
at. How I wonder about things & toy with regret. How, even though I know it
would be an upstream swim, I still feel like I’ve failed because my children
don’t know French, I wonder if I even do, and I don’t have enough contact with
the people we love and left behind.
I’d post pictures. I'd share music, ideas, projects, hopes, outings, events.
I might share recipes.
I might even wax philosophical, or talk politics or religion…what? no, no, no. you know what they say about politics and religion! That’s gonna
lose you readers real fast.
What readers?
What readers?
In short, I guess I’d just try to share life. It’s wonder
and joy and triumph: the mountain peaks with glorious views; and it’s
disappointments and struggles and monotony: the difficult hikes it took (is
taking) to get there.
I should probably just take someone’s advice and keep this
all to myself, in a journal. But I guess I believe there is value in sharing
our lives with others. We benefit from the shoulders offered to us when we
struggle, from the pats on the back when we succeed, from others' insights & wisdom, and from offering those
things to others.
I’d share all these things if I blogged. Maybe I will. Or most
likely, the watered down version on Facebook and Instagram will have to do, and
will be, no doubt, more than sufficient to satisfy any desire you may have to
get a glimpse into my life.
