It’s no myth that college makes you miss your mom. It is most definitely a fact. But it’s not a generic feeling; it’s the smallest, weirdest things you miss about her. Odds are you miss little things she does that you even used to hate way back when you were still living with her. And trust me when I say that as you get older, you don’t miss her any less. In fact, the older I get the more I miss her.
I miss my mom’s cooking. Your mom doesn’t even have to be a five-star chef for you to miss her cooking (although I’m biased and convinced my Mom is one). I miss her homemade cookies, and even though I can get the recipe from her and make them myself, they’re not made with her extra ingredient, “love,” that she swears she puts into every batch she sends me. And don’t even get me started on the dinners she made for me while I was growing up, I find myself making my favorites when I miss her the most, but of course they never turn out quite as good.
As weird as this sounds, I miss her waking me up every morning. I used to dread her voice screaming up the stairs for me to get up (I’m the world’s heaviest sleeper). She is the sweetest lady, but come morning time when I was refusing to get up for school she switched into business mode and didn’t take any of my bratty teenage crap. Now I’m in college and wishing she were here to yell me out of bed on the days I skip class and really shouldn’t. My attendance points would thank her greatly for the assistance.
I miss my personal laundry doer. I’m going to admit something embarrassing when I say that I barely knew how a washing machine worked when I moved to college. My Mom received weekly calls asking how to do laundry and half the time she was laughing at my struggles on her end of the phone. It never fails that I stain something or shrink it. Seriously, how are mom’s so perfect at laundry?
Above all other things I miss my mom’s big warm hugs when I’m having a bad day, the little “love pats” she gives my leg while I’m riding in the passenger seat of her car and her calling me “pumpkin” like I’m still a little kid. I always look forward to referring to my college town as “home” and hearing her get agitated and telling me that isn’t my home. Home is where your mom is.
I love you to the moon and back Mom,
Your favorite (red headed) daughter
