Home is cheesy potatoes

I was the coolest person on the planet at 16. Or at least I thought I was. And because I had just learned what "disenchanted" meant (it was a vocab word for our "Great Gatsby" unit), and because I liked the way it sounded, I thought it was the only word that was cool enough to describe me.
Of course, we grow up and realize (with much embarrassment) that a word - no matter how pretty - does not an accurate description make. There aren't many girls who go to a small, rural school who should use that word to describe themselves. But I'd spent too much time watching "Dawson's Creek." And I had a real-life Dawson, reaffirming my misguided beliefs.
I wanted to see the world. I wanted to do something with my life. I did the only logical thing there was to do: I left the country. OK, so I just thought of 76 more logical things to do, but bear with me.
I did it because I didn't care about Homecoming. I didn't care about how much I'd miss home, and all the things that go with it, including freedom and understanding.
And I surely didn't think I'd miss my mom as much as I did.
And I went. And it was lonely, and exhilarating, and it made me grow up really, really fast. Nothing says "just do it" like being lost in the domestic side of the airport in Washington DC alone, 30 minutes before you're supposed to be on a plane to Amsterdam. You wipe those tears, pick up your bags and just go. And I went. And I stayed a semester there. I learned a new language. I studied English, chemistry, French and Dutch -- all in Dutch. I made new friends. I did all that. But sometimes at night, I'd lay in bed and cry, because I was still 16, and I missed my mom.
But are we ever supposed to stop missing our moms? I moved seven hours, three states and one Great Lake away from mom. I don't cry. But the way I feel now is the way I feel the day before I knew I was going back to America. Like a piece of whoever I was would be with mom, and that I could just go home. I've lost that feeling of home. I'm kinda hoping she brings it with her.
In the form of cookies, or cheesy potato casserole.