Another argument against all things nuclear

Over the past several days, I have become Facebook friends with several of my relatives. All of whom I have not seen in years.

Why? Because, as previously mentioned, I live here and they live there. North Carolina versus New York. Separated by 12 hours, unyielding traffic, and fluctuating gas prices. I often forget how large my family is. After all, I'm generally just surrounded by my four closest relatives, plus the occasional aunt or cousin thrown into the mix.

I feel like I missed out on an incredibly valuable opportunity. The idea of being friends with my cousins has always appealed to me so much. The ability to just chat with my aunts and uncles about life has seemed like a downright luxury.

I crave the My Big Fat Greek Wedding family experience-- an extended family that laughs loud and eats big. I know mine is like that, but surely I deserve a direct immersion opportunity.

The nuclear family has its merits, with its easily identifiable members and common geography, but the description itself sounds a little dangerous. Clearly, I need to extend the branches of my family tree beyond North Carolina to embrace what lies to the north and west. I'm hoping I'll be accepted, despite the fallout.

Two-Two

I always thought that Karen from The Baby-sitters' Little Sisters series was rather irritating, though I still read and reread those books like nobody's business. Of course, now I realize that she is a visually impaired, bossy know-it-all who has a hard time using her "indoor voice," so I can't easily hate a character who is clearly my literary counterpart.

And lately I've been thinking a lot about those books again, though I'm sure the author had no intention of facilitating any profound thoughts for a girl three times the age of her average audience. But in the book, Karen refers to herself as a two-two since she has two different homes as a result of divorce.

Well, feeling like a two-two is about the most apt description I can come up with to explain my current mindset.

My house in Cary is home. You know, with two cats in the yard and life having been hard at some point I can no longer recall. (See: Our House) It's chock-full of memories and delicious food that I didn't have to make. But home is also my teeny-tiny dorm room in Chapel Hill, with one short roommate and the hard work that must be endured by all college students. (Ahem.)

I love coming back to see my family. But somehow, it's like the new, abridged version of my bedroom serves as a palpable reminder that I've outgrown that home. And the old things I used to do still feel old. Outdated. Yet Chapel Hill is too new, my life here too transient to attach myself permanently to the place. Thus, I remain a two-two.

If home is where the heart is, mine must be lying somewhere on I-40, unable to commit to a permanent pumping grounds.