As I was moving into my dorm room, an eager young freshman at UVM, it never occurred to me that the phrase “going home for the weekend” would someday be such music to my ears. Rather, I was elated at the prospect of setting my own curfew; eating whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted; and not having to feel guilty every time I went outside for a cigarette. I was gonna have real freedom for the first time, and oh how I relished the prospect.

Two and a half years later, I’m older, wiser and I’ve realized that, as Spiderman’s stepfather told him in the recent blockbuster movie, “With great power comes great responsibility.” No, that anthropology final didn’t go so well after a night of drinking and controlled substances. Also, it turned out that a diet of pizza and french fries was not so good for my once-cute waistline. And really, though I miss cigarettes terribly, being sick with a hacking cough for an entire Vermont winter ain’t so sweet.

These life lessons learned, I now manage to take much better care of myself. I’m not so much down for a night of drinkin’ and druggin’ the night before exams – Well, not unless I can still get my eight hours of sleep in between the aforementioned activities. When I go grocery shopping, I’m more about salads than frozen pizza. And I can afford to buy these healthier options now that I’m not spending $30 a week or more on cigarettes.

But taking care of yourself is hard. Taxing. Demanding. Sometimes I wanna get in the car and just drive (and I don’t have a license, mind you) until I’m no longer stressed – at which point I will find the nearest Wendy’s with a smoking section and inhale a value meal of yummy processed chicken-like substances and anything else deep fried in animal fat, all the while sucking down a pack of Marlboros.

These little “fantasies” aside, I assure you I’m quite competent at being a healthy, functioning college student. And I don’t think I will act on them anyway, as I’ve learned the value of that little phrase I mentioned earlier, “going home for the weekend.” (You thought I forgot about that, didn’t you? No, I may digress, but I always get back to the point.)

I sit here at home in New York (the weather a pleasant 70 degrees) as I type this, in a quiet apartment perfectly conducive to any homework I’ve got to finish before I head back to school on Monday. I’ve got cute little siblings with whom to play, a dog to walk, a mother to make all my meals and a father with whom to take walks to Blockbuster and Haagen-Daz. I’ve also got upwards of 500 channels of crappy TV to watch, and it just so happens that E! decided to run an “Anna Nicole Smith Show” marathon. The new and modern appliances in my kitchen (including an actual dishwasher!) gleam as I mull over what snack I might like to sample from the well-stocked cupboard and fridge.

While it may get irritating as long periods of time at home like the summer stretch out, right now I only smile when I hear my mom’s voice as I’m leaving saying, “What time will you be home tonight? Just wanna know when I should start worrying.” Yep, my mom worries about me. Oh, it’s nice to be fussed over.

There are of course problems with being home. How to spend your time is one. When you’ve only got a weekend, and you want to get in quality time with your parents, that boy and your friends, plus pleeeeenty of that same quality time with the couch, you’ve really got to organize yourself. (Luckily when that boy breaks plans with you at the last minute, it’s a little easier). Then there’s the overindulgence. After a weekend of being pampered, it’s always a little difficult facing the prospect of getting back into the grind.

Then again…As we sit on the couch, me and the remote control that is, I begin to realize that the rest of my family is in bed by midnight or so, and while R.C. is great company, I kinda miss the constant presence of someone with whom to gossip, laugh or have a cup of tea. I kinda miss the crazy once-in-a-lifetime world of living immersed among fellow young students, at least a few of whom are always up to something ridiculous. Oh, Mom, I love the pancakes, but suddenly washing my own dishes by hand has never looked so good.