Poopy pops

Lately I've been thinking about the Californian in me. It's so weird to me when I get thinking about it. Allow me to elaborate. California doesn't really feel like home to me anymore. I'd say I feel most "at home" in the Inland Northwest/Northwest. Yet I lived all my life in California. Almost a whole 18 years before I left for school. I don't dream of it or really even miss it. It's just where I grew up before my life started. When I find myself sweating in sunny 70s, I stop and wonder how I survived in 100 degree desert summers. I remember being outside all the time, I remember our house feeling so cold when I'd go in for some ice water, but I don't remember wanting to die from the heat. I'd say sunny low 60s are my favorite temperature. Today's actual high was 78 and there was a time where I was totally a sweaty mess. Pathetic.

I found some Californian in me, though.

I didn't take this picture. Google images did.

Along one of our regular walks there are lovely bunches of poppies and other wild flowers. I love poppies. They are so happy and bright and orange. And Miles calls them "poopy pops." It makes me laugh every time. I realized that I really do have some California in my blood when I wouldn't let Miles pick that CA state flower. Then they chopped them down. But they are still poopy pops.