Whose space?

Can anyone really describe themselves with words? I don't think it's the words as much as it is the way they are written. Welcome to a space I call my own.

I'm 30 (basically, is it August yet?). Here are some words to sum me up:

- loved

- wife x 12 (years, not men.)

- mom x 3 (kids, not years.)

- adequate family member

- friendly neighbor(hood spiderman? jk. would be cool though.)

- adoption/foster advocate

- accountant

I have spent some time in the past year-ish journaling. I realized typing is quicker, and I want people to talk back to my journal. Here I am, creating a blog, where I hope you talk back (comments, please).

As a wife and mom, finding a space to call my own is a hidden treasure. Normally this looks like showering. Journaling when I can. Running (ok, some would call it lightly jogging) after bedtime. Or a daydream while washing dishes.

Daydreaming is a funny thing. My daydreams are more real than life sometimes. I can wake up and hit snooze; pushing away a busy day 9 minutes at a time (seriously apple, why can't I choose my own snooze time?). I lay there, empty. Then out of nowhere, I feel the train I'm riding on take a sharp right, braking hard. In the boxcar dining room, my wine tips over splashing red on my beautiful green dress. The fancy crystal chandeliers chime above me. Everyone is scared, so I start to panic, too. I jump up! Well, that's one way of getting out of bed. I've never been on a train, wine gives me a headache, and my favorite color is green.

Leslie