From 'Where Is This Place?' to 'What's Not to Love?'

I wasn't always Mommin' Around La Mesa. When we first moved here, I'd never heard of the place, much less thought I'd settle in these parts.

When my husband, Derek, and I moved to San Diego five years ago so I could attend California Western School of Law, we found our cozy studio apartment the modern way—sight unseen via Craig's List. Fortunately, the Avalon at Cortez Hill turned out to be more than sufficient for a young couple living downtown.

A month after I graduated with my law degree, my fertility (which had been lying dormant for at least six years) decided to kick into gear. Derek and I were blessed with a daughter, Quinn, now 19 months old.

Great timing in one way, since I was just a year from being declared at an "advanced maternal age." But not-so-great timing for the strenuous California bar exam.

Suddenly, a downtown dwelling seemed inappropriate for our little family. Even after moving into the two-bedroom apartment, we were cramped. My mom, who turned 75 the day Quinn was born—yes, I know how to deliver on birthdays—moved in with us to both help with her first granddaughter and so that she would no longer live alone.

I bumped into my mom on the way to the bathroom, on the way to the kitchen, on the way from her room/Quinn's nursery, and on the way out the door.

We needed to move.

Thanks to a buyer's market, Derek decided it was also time to take the leap and invest in a home of our own.

Because I was fairly new to San Diego, I figured we'd look at homes in La Jolla, Point Loma and downtown. After all, he was a teacher and I was a recent law school graduate with a hefty student loan to pay. We could afford it.

Have you stopped laughing yet?

Thankfully, Derek wasn't limited by my geographical ignorance and approached me with several homes in exotic locales named Tierrasanta, La Mesa and Mission Hills.

Until we took a ride around the different neighborhoods, I was set on behaving like a spoiled child. "La Mesa?! Who wants to live there?! Where is this place?! How far is it from downtown San Diego?!" I demanded.

Derek patiently advised me to just wait and see. "Whatever," I pouted. "I'm not gonna like it. I'm not gonna."

After looking through several homes that weren't really us, we found a place here in La Mesa that even uncooperative me couldn't dispute.

When we drove up to the townhome along Baltimore Drive, I noticed Costco and Babies "R" Us on Fletcher Parkway, a mere five minutes from our complex. For a new mom, having those two stores within walking vicinity is a definite plus. After eating a cheap slice of pizza, I could just turn around and shop for Quinn's various needs, like cute dresses, fun toys with "off" buttons and adorable bibs sporting "I Love Mommy Best."

And maybe I'd get some diapers and baby food, too.

Looking around the empty 1970s-era townhome, I was impressed with its skylights and its end-unit location, which offered a lot of privacy. The area was clean and the people were quite a bit older, which meant there wouldn't be too many late-night parties and hard rock music being blasted into the wee hours of the morning.

Toward our last days downtown, we heard angry neighbors screaming obscenities into the night, watched other tenants play soccer on our apartment tennis courts, and prayed infant Quinn wouldn't be awakened by the countless sirens blasting midnight warnings.

It was clearly time to move, and, as author James Newland wrote in Images of America: La Mesa, people come to La Mesa "to make a living, build homes, and raise families."

Before we moved, we had painters come into our home and color the world that would be our refuge from work and other necessary evils. We also had a new carpet and more modern appliances installed—our unit actually had its original oven from the '70s before we moved in. Not only did the weird mossy green not go with our décor, but the monster looked like it was itching for a good bakefight.

I know "bakefight" isn't actually a word, but what else would you call a scuffle between a new owner and an oven more than three decades old?

After we moved in, I felt a little like a displaced cat. Staying home more often than not, I  visited only the same places around the neighborhood—Ralphs on Grossmont Boulevard, Vons and Coco's on La Mesa Boulevard, and Grossmont Center. A couple of months into it, I got tired of my self-grounding and began to explore more. I walked around Lake Murray and strolled through La Mesa Village.

Sooner than later, I wanted to burst out into song about loving my new digs, like Mei-Li did in "Flower Drum Song." Considering the quaint cafes, antique stores and bookstores, what's not to love? I also began including Henry's Farmers Market among my grocery go-to spots.

We've lived in La Mesa for a while now and I have to tell you I'm excited about its future, especially considering its past. A lot of wonderful old-timers live here as well as a growing number of interesting individuals choosing to set up house in the Jewel of the Hills.

Ahem.

Guess early La Mesa resident Mary Garfield said it best in her poem "La Mesa = Jewel of the Hills":

If you'd find a quiet haven, far from storm and stress of life,
Where sweet peace and love abideth and no tho't of restless strife,
Seek La Mesa, beauteous suburb, San Diego's child, alone,
Nestled in among the foothills, near the vale of El Cajon