Me: The Letter C

This post is brought to you by the letter C ... here's a little peek at me and what makes me ... umm, me. This weekly series is
"All About Me: from A to Z." Check out my inaugural post if you want to know more about why I'm doing this!

Cooper: The day I found out Cooper was going to be a boy I cried. I cried right there on the exam table as I was getting my ultrasound. I had to look away to hide my tears, since my husband was overjoyed with the news; I didn’t want to ruin it for him. I cried as we drove home. And I cried on and off for the next few weeks. We already had a girl and he wanted a boy. Me, I wanted a girl. I had a girl. I knew all about girls. I’m a girl, so I figured I was better suited to be the mother of girls.  Flash forward to April 4, 2009 … the day Cooper arrived. As soon I saw Coop, it was like magic. Bright eyed and happy, that’s my little guy. Never in a million years did I think my heart could be stolen so quickly by such a little thing. I love Cooper. I love him in a way I didn’t think was possible. My heart feels like it’s going to burst each time I look at him. He’s so sweet, so precious, and exactly what I never knew I always wanted. I’m so grateful to be the mother of this wonderful little boy. And to think, I didn’t want a boy. (Side note:  Cooper loves the Cookie Monster and when ever he sees him he says "Cookie" in the same voice as the Cookie Monster. Super adorable.)

Country music: I have a soft spot for country music, but not really popular country music. I like the old stuff. Loretta Lynn, Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash … the more twang the better.
California: You can take the girl out of California, but you can’t take the California out of the girl. Born and raised in California, Southern California to be exact, and no matter how long I’m away from that State my heart always skips a beat when I return. I feel this overwhelming since of relief and homecoming; funny, since it’s not my home and probably never will be again. But for many, many years it was all I knew. And I still know it so well. I can navigate its freeways without a map. I know the best places to eat. I know where to shop. I know where to avoid. I know when traffic is its worst. I know what it smells like, what it looks like and what it feels like. I still blow kisses to my Great-Grandma’s grave as I pass by on the freeway … I did it just last week without even thinking about it. I love the palm trees. The views of the Los Angeles and the ocean make me swoon. I love the stories of my mother growing up playing in orange groves when there were actually orange trees in the city of Orange.  I remember as a new, 16-year-old driver wanting to drive the streets of the San Fernando Valley, just to see how long Balboa or Sepulveda really were. I ran remember my bathing suit getting mucked up with tar after camping at Carpinteria. Trips to San Diego have always been a highlight and still are. And the list could go on forever.
I know it’s smoggy. I know it’s overcrowded. I know the traffic is horrible. But it’s the place I know best. It’s the place that will always be home to me. It’s California and I love it.