After the first, oh, two months of freshman year at Northwestern I finally stopped crying every day – walking into the Gap (because there’s a Gap at home, duh), walking into and out of class, and every time I had to eat something slimy at the dining hall. But just because the waterworks subsided two years ago, that doesn’t mean the incessant phone calls to my mommy have.

I talk to that lady every morning on the way to class – except Tuesdays and Thursdays when I leave for class at 5:40 a.m. California time, I know, I’m too kind – then again on the way back, a few more times later in the day if I’m bored and definitely before bed. All I can say is thank you, Verizon Family Share plan.

Ironically, I actually think that when I’m home I talk to my mom less. I wave at her pulling out of the driveway, and that’s about it. But something about being halfway across the country makes you need your “Mim,” my whiny version of “Mom”, all the time. Add that to the fact that we’re all pretty much clueless in the kitchen, afraid we’re dying when we have a slight cough and still need to complain about unfair amounts of homework, and we really do need our moms even as much as we did back in the good old days.

Of all the things I’ve learned while in college – and there are many things, good and real bad – understanding how much we rely on our mommies comes up pretty high.

So when I think about Mother’s Day approaching, and the third year in a row that I won’t be there with her, I get a tad teary – again. Teary mostly because my whole family will be eating some amazing meal without me mostly, but, really, I miss her annoying haircuts and the yoga crap strewn all over our house.

And as much as I’m excited to finally get out of college too and “make it” in the real world – meaning live in a box in New York – it’s scary to think that this is it. I’m not moving back into “my” room (now a storage room for sewing crap) at the end of next year. But I rest assured that as soon as I do get back to that green house with the purple door each holiday, mommy will still whip up my favorite foods, do my laundry, listen to my drama and then make me look at her damn garden. Things are bound to change, but then again they just stay the same. Speak of the devil, guess who’s calling!4

Medill junior Deena Bustillo is the PLAY editor. She can be reached at d-bustillo@northwestern.edu.