Why I Can't Miss Home

I don't miss home. Don't get me wrong, it's not because I didn't love where I lived, but I was just so ready to leave that I had even more time to process the change since I was already so mentally adjusted to the thought of moving.

What I do miss, though, is my Mom's baking. I miss the different batches of muffins she would make at least once a week, alternating between each family member or friend's favorite requests. A dozen of pumpkin, apple cinnamon, lemon poppy seed, classic cranberry, morning glory, orange zesty chocolate chip, rarely blueberry (far too simple for my mother's creative mind), or whatever the hell else she decided to throw in her made-from-scratch organic batter would be waiting for me any given time of day on the counter. Whenever I walked into the kitchen and I'd be hit with waves of different spices and fruits that have found friendship in a baked good that I could never think up. I miss the steam meandering out of the broken pores of fluffy confections as I swear to myself for not waiting for it to cool before eating.

I miss listening to live music every Wednesday night in my kitchen as my Mom and her "bluegrassy" friends play their instruments of choice. All through Middle School and most of High School I would sit at the computer or TV with my headphones in, trying to block it out, but when I called last Wednesday night and heard them all in the background-- all loving voices of my mother's friends calling out to say hello and how much they missed me, I wished I could have been there to be bothered.

I know you don't believe me, but I don't miss home, I swear.

I miss the homegrown greens and garlic that my parents cook up mere hours or minutes after they've been pulled from the ground of our own yard. I miss the jingle of the bells on our door, ringing with the sound of the beagle howling. I miss the sounds, smells, and ideas of that home.
Adventures are fun because they're not home. Home is familiar, adventure is new, and new is exciting. But once your adventures turn familiar does that become home to you too? Once I've settled here, mourned the loss of the poor succulent my roommates and I managed to kill in only three weeks (RIP Hank Johnson), stayed up late for everything in between homework crash courses and American Horror Story screenings, eaten Chinese food on the floor of my dorm, cried for whatever reason, and laughed even more than everything else combined, will this then be home to me?

Honestly, I've missed home before, even lost a home before; I do know what it feels like to miss the home itself and everything that comes with it, but this doesn't feel quite the same. This feels more like I added a home. I can't miss my "home" home because it's still there, my mother is still there. She is home. She's safety, she's warmth, she's hilarity, she's beauty, she's grace, she's- oh wait that's Miss America. But the point still stands. My Mom is here for me therefore so is my home. Maybe I'll have to give it a bit more time before the homesickness hits, but for right now, I don't feel like I'm any further from her-- so I can't be any further from home as long as she's only a phone call away.

~thanks Mom, I love you~

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