Purple, Pretend, and Pig Sweaters

The other day I put a picture on Facebook and it got 82 likes. 

EIGHTY-TWO. 

I didn't have a baby, I didn't get engaged, I didn't graduate, and I've never had so much feedback from one picture. 

What was the picture of? 

Me in a pig sweater when I was a kid. 

A pig sweater that I picked out myself and loved well. 

I also had a matching duck sweater. 

The eighty-two thumbs-up of affirmation inspired me to write this post...about the younger, homeschooled Laura who wore awesome sweaters and ponytails.

I wasn't homeschooled my whole life. I went to public school through second grade, homeschooled through seventh grade, and transferred into a teeny-tiny Christian school in eighth grade to finish out my education. 

Those 5 homeschooled years, though...

THEY WERE AWESOME. 

I played pretend, like, every day.

My mom read historical fiction to me for an hour in the morning while I made crafts and rearranged my dollhouse. And if I worked hard, I could finish the rest of my work by noon and have the whole afternoon to myself.

You know, to read books and make things out of pipe cleaners and toothpicks.
Life was good.

Every morning I walked my dog and made up stories about the pretend world in my neighborhood.

In my pretend world, I had a herd of flying cats, fairies, snow leopards, and an eagle named Bon-Bon. My pretend boyfriends' names were Cameron and Colin, and my brother was always the bad guy who rode out of the sky on black clouds. 

We didn't have cable, so I watched shows on PBS and taught myself how to speak Ubbi-Dubbi, the language of Zoom. 

My best friend lived in my neighborhood and some afternoons I would go to her house, play under her porch, and listen to sinful music by Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys. 

My other best friend lived in the woods, where we played hero-and-damsel and listened to sinful music by N'sync.

One summer, my brother and I rode bikes around the cul-de-sac in our pajamas and caught baby grasshoppers in the neighboring field.

We also found pop-weeds around the side of the road and shot them at each other.
The world was a big place.

In my top-secret diaries I wrote about crafts, sleepovers, and the occasional boy. 

"Dear Diary, It's almost 9:00! My bedtime. I taught Morgan crochet and she finished a bag! She encouraged me to finish what I start to make. And I'll do that, now. Well, gotta go! Mine truly, Laura Rose Love."

"Dear Diary, Pokemon comes on in about 10 minutes. Morgans party was great even though we stayed less than 2 hours. She did like my present....I've gotta go now. Mine Truly, Laura Rose Love."

"Dear Diary, I'm going to a pumpkin patch with Morgan in not to long. It will be fun. I'm about to wake up Panda. Pokemon comes on in about 5 minutes so goodbye! Mine Truly, Laura Rose Love."

(Yeah, I had a panda named Panda and I put him down for naps)

(And Pokemon was my JAM)

Sometimes the entries even had titles. 

My Love

I love Andros (the red Power Ranger). He's nice. He's handsome. I wish I could marry him. I pretend I marry him. He's friendly. I wish I was with him.

The Love of Mine

I absolutely adore Ash Ketchum. He has pointy black hair, big eyes, a black shirt, a blue jacket, jeans, and tennis shoes. He also has a Pikachu.

Because I was homeschooled, I had lots of time to write stories, including one called Friedchickenunzel. It's about Friedchickenunzel Sunny Delight, who was locked in a tower by the evil wizard Harry Potter, grew really long hair, and was saved by George W. Bush.

DON'T ASK.

Every week we met up with other homeschoolers at a Co-op to learn special skills, like how to make pillows and bead necklaces and identify cool rocks. 

Sometimes our family went on field trips to places like the aquarium and Walmart. 

It was the best time.

Of course, after such an extended, idyllic childhood, the transition back to school in eighth grade was rough, even though I needed it. 

I (obviously) didn't know how to dress myself, had spent years not saying "butt" or "gosh", had just stopped playing with dolls, and liked to read on the bus. I had a crush on a real-live boy who was in my class that was KILLING me and tucked my uniform in at least three inches higher than the other girls did. And my hair was up in a ponytail. Every. Day.

I was disconnected from my homeschooled friends and didn't fit in with the crowd of kids who'd grown up watching Nickelodeon and wearing flare jeans. I didn't feel like I had friends again until the end of ninth grade, and I knew they were really my friends when one of them looked at my snowman turtleneck and lovingly said, "Laura, we have got to go shopping."

Then I figured out how to make people laugh, and things got better.

Don't worry. I have friends now. I think.

I'm not saying that homeschooling or not homeschooling children is the answer to education, because my siblings and I all received a mixture of both and we turned out pretty great.
All I'm saying is that I will never take my childhood for granted, and that everyone should wear a pig sweater at least once.

Here are some more fun photos for you to enjoy:

Dress up like a historical character day. I look just like Addy, right?

Who doesn't wear Tigger keychains on their belt-loops? SWAG.

Daniel's faces. Classic. 

Also, I was a ballerina for...not a long time.

This is when mom decided I should get swimming lessons...

...and wear more sunscreen.
It's ok, whenever I got this red I got to pretend to be Princess Ruby. She had a white cat.

But really, who needs a waterpark when you've got a sprinkler and a best friend?

And who needs toys when a giant white thing blows into your yard after a storm?
ROCKET SHIP.

I had more Pooh shirts than I cared to count.

Homeschool field trip to the animal shelter in my favorite outfit.
Start wearing purple, everybody. It'll change your life.

That time when I forced Daniel to play Rudolph with my earmuffs. Pretty sure this is the part where I was telling him to fly...or else.

Maybe he didn't like it as much as I did. 

CREEP FACE. Destined to be a cat lady.

There are photos of at least three other occasions where I am wearing this sweater.
And holidays were the best time to break out the creep face.

Last but not least, the pig sweater resurfaces. 
Life. Was. Good.

Let's talk about boys.

Long ago, when I mapped out my life, it looked like this: 

College -> Marriage -> Babies -> Other Cool Stuff

That seemed to be the way other people mapped out their lives, and it sounded good and safe to me.
Particularly the marriage part.

In fact, I vividly remember playing pretend games in which I would "meet someone" and then run to my room, find a ring, proudly shove it onto that special marriage finger and show it off to all of my pretend friends. 

(If Facebook had existed, I'm sure I would've pretended to post a picture of my ring, too.)
(Caption: "The Red Power Ranger proposed...AND I SAID YES!!!!")

Through high school and most of college I prayed diligently for my future husband. I had a list of all the qualities he would have, so that when I met him I would know it was HIM--the guy who would have a few flaws, but would ultimately make my life magical. 

Somewhere in there, I did meet somebody.

 He had pretty blue eyes, opened car doors for me, and knew how to make me laugh. After three years of dating, I was sure. 

The stars had aligned and this was HIM. 

Everything was perfect.

But then it wasn't. 

After the initial explosion and the many aftershocks, I spent the several months picking my heart up off the ground and learning some lessons about self-worth. 

I spent a lot of time after the breakup believing that it happened because I wasn't good enough. 

I wasn't pretty enough

smart enough

funny enough

confident enough

charming enough.

Something must have been wrong with me.

AND THAT WAS A LIE.

I was putting my self-worth in a boy who didn't last and dreams that hadn't come true.

I wasn't putting it in the One Person who never asked me to be enough, who made me exactly the way I am, and who will give me contentment if I just ask for it---without any conditions of my own. 

Since then, I've gotten some well-meaning pieces of advice.

"It'll happen when you least expecting it."

So I tried my hardest...not...to expect it.

"You'll find a man when you are ok with not having one."

So I tried really hard not to want a boyfriend.

"God will give Him to you when you're ready."

So I tried really hard to be ready. 

Whatever that meant.

It's like when someone tells you not to think about polar bears.
Now you're thinking about polar bears, aren't you?
AND YOU CAN'T STOP.
YOU'RE SO FOCUSED ON THE POLAR BEARS.
YOU FEEL LIKE A FAILURE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T GET THE POLAR BEARS OFF YOUR MIND.
THAT'S IT, YOU'RE A FAILURE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T EVEN CONTROL YOUR OWN BRAIN.

It wasn't until I threw away all those pieces of advice that I felt better. 

Not that any of it was bad advice, but focusing so intently on not focusing was making me miserable.
So.

I tore up my husband-qualities list because I realized that I was putting unrealistic expectations on men to be perfect. 

I stopped praying for my future husband unless I was also praying for people who were currently in my life.

I stopped trying so hard to make myself right for this future-possible-person.

Instead, I decided to live for right now and love the One who created me to find true contentment in Him alone.
The truth is, I was never promised a spouse.
Even if I get one, he won't fill my needs.
No human was ever meant to.

And why should I complain about one relationship I don't have when I have been given SO MUCH?

For the first time in my life, there is nothing holding me back from being able to say "yes" if the right man wanted to marry me.
But, for the first time in my life, I'm ok with not being asked the question.

I've seen that marriage, just like singlehood, has its ups and downs.

It is not the POINT of life. 

And, while it is a wonderful thing, it will not bring ultimate happiness. 

Every day is not perfect.
Sometimes I wallow in self-pity...and sometimes I belt out Beyonce songs about the wonders of man-less-ness.
But, sometimes, I sit in the sweetness of what I've been given now.
Like friends, family, and good chocolate.

Mr. Gobbles

This is the tale of Mr. Gobbles and the day he spent in first grade.

Mr. Gobbles is a hand turkey made of dry erase marker and imagination. He doesn't have a lot of personality, but he's a deep soul and likes to take long walks in the dry erase marker forest.

The main character in this story, however, is not Mr. Gobbles, but Ms. Love the substitute teacher.

Who happens to be me.

It started on a cold, rainy Tuesday morning. 

I was not one bit excited to be subbing first graders two days before Thanksgiving. You see, the last time I was in a first grade classroom my day culminated with a child knocking her crayon box on the floor and then screaming and stomping on the little wax nubs as they rolled across the floor.

That was not a good day.

But on this rainy Tuesday I decided to be festive, so I slapped my hand on the board and created Mr. Gobbles a few minutes before the children came in.

The deal was that Mr. Gobbles would gain or lose feathers dependent on how well the class followed directions and kept their hands to themselves. 

(This picture was taken after he earned a purple feather.)

A few minutes later, the first few children shuffled through the door, staring at me through deceivingly adorable eyes. 

The first two coherent sentences I heard were, 

"She's not married. She got a 'M S'."

and 

"Who's Mr. Gobbles?"

To my absolute surprise, the rest of the day went beautifully. 

We spent the morning making butter out of cream. 

And who doesn't love butter?

All four first grade classes rotated through my room for thirty minutes at a time, and after each group shook and tasted the butter and I couldn't think of ANYTHING else to do, we talked about things you can make out of milk, like

cheese

and ice cream

and chocolate milk

and cupcakes.

(It was an interesting discussion.)

During the afternoon my class did worksheets, watched Pocahontas II and Anastasia, and made turkeys with things they were thankful for written on the feathers. 

(because the teacher who left me plans knew it's hard to do anything really serious with a sub on a rainy day before Thanksgiving)

Of course, having too much fun can be wearing, as one child let me know:

 "We want to do work--we are tired of doing all this other stuff."

Mr. Gobbles presided over all behavior (earning four extra feathers throughout the day) and was a point of some serious discussion. 

"Mr. Gobbles is my BEST. FRIEND."

"Is Mr. Gobbles married? He's 'M R'."

"I made my turkey look like Mr. Gobbles."

"Mr. Gobbles is my husband."

And this note:

"I love you Ms. Love you are the swetist teachere I evr met. I like Mr. Gobbles to tel hem that frum me."

Sometimes all it takes to start a day off right is a marker and some imagination.

Pictures from Narnia

Everyone knows that I went to China for a year and taught the cutest second graders in the world. 

It was hard, and I loved the people there a lot. 

A LOT. 

Then I came home and didn't talk to them anymore. It was over. Ka-put. 

Most people in China don't use facebook. They use something called QQ (which is more like myspace), and in order to find people on it you have to have their number. 

When I got back to America I made a QQ account but I didn't have any of my friends' numbers. 

No numbers, no friends.

I felt cut off. 

VERY cut off, in fact. 

For the last few months I've been wrestling with feeling alone in my experiences. I did so much in China, knew and loved so many people, and spent a year trying to adjust to the smog and smells.

 But nobody in my daily life now was there with me.

In some ways it's like trying to tell my friends about Narnia.

Really, sometimes you couldn't see the sky AT ALL.

To say 'thank you' you say 'xie xie'...no, not like that.

Chinese food is like stir fry...but better, and not with frozen vegetables, and actually not at all like stir fry. And they have this thing that they make with sweet potatoes and melted sugar that's like...well, nevermind. But it's really good. I promise.

Even if I don't think about China during the daytime, I sometimes have vivid dreams about going back to visit and seeing my students--who in the dreams have gotten taller and forgotten me. 

Yikes.

In one last attempt to reach back into my school in Taiyuan, I emailed Fabio's aunt in September to ask for his mailing address. I sent him a letter and I was scared to death that it wouldn't get there. Of course, there wasn't really a way for me to know unless his aunt sent me a message to tell me.

Then I had an idea. 

I decided to ask a foreign teacher who is at the school this year to pass on my QQ number to my old co-teachers. 

Two days ago, this happened:

Jane, Ann, and Angel. 

Some of my funny, sweet, wonderful co-teachers used my number to find me and I got to talk to them--really talk.

I got to see them and hear the funny ways they phrase things and feel the joy and life that they bring to conversations. 

Then--JOY OF JOYS--two of my old students, Josie and Celia, came into the office where my co-teachers were, rushed to the screen, and exclaimed, "Mees Love!!!"

I nearly wet myself with excitement. 

Last night we talked again. They told me about how Ann is getting married tomorrow and Evelyn is getting married next month. Candy and Sunny had babies. Angel wants a boyfriend more than I want chocolate cake. They sent me pictures of my students, whom they are teaching again for 3rd grade English. And Ann was excited to let me know that she is helping Fabio write me a return letter.

I can't even put words to how these few pictures made me feel.

I believe it was the way the Pevensie children would have felt if Mr. Tumnus had texted them pictures of Narnia after they tumbled back out of the wardrobe. 

As if to say, "It was real...and these people still love you."

The Sub.

I never wanted to be a sub, because subs are always called "THE SUB". 

I understand that there is a lot of turnover in the world of substitutes and that I'll probably be guilty of doing it when I'm a regular teacher one day. 

But really.

THE SUB?

What am I?

A sandwich?

And underwater boat? 

Sub is at the beginning of words like "subservient", "subordinate", and "subdue". 

I would rather it be associated with better words. 

Suberhero?

Suberb?

Suberawesome?

Regardless, I really like subbing.

It's what I do two days a week at school that's six minutes away from my house on the days that I'm not working at my dad's office.

I like walking into the school cafeteria and having rock star syndrome because kids are yelling, 

"AY, THERE'S MISS LOVE!!!"

"HEY MISS LOVE!"

"NI HAO MISS LOVE!"

I like telling my older classes about China.

If I've met the teacher before, I'll ask her to leave behind her computer password so I can bring in some pictures and videos of my Chinese babies to show the students at the end of the day. It's nice to talk about China to people who really want to hear about it, are interested in learning Chinese numbers, and are FASCINATED by squatty potties.

"Do they use toilet paper?"

"Where are the doors?"

"They pee TOGETHER?" 

"What happens when they--EWWWWW!!!"

Kids get excited when they walk in the classroom and see me, THE SUB, because they expect a free day. 

Then I slap a behavior chart up on the board and crush their hopes and dreams. 

From 1st grade to sixth, I progress from adding limbs to stick figures to drawing stars and dots to putting up bad checks and good checks to pitting myself against the class in behavior football. 

Not what I'd necessarily use as a regular teacher, but it works as a one-day survival technique. 

I also don't understand--or underestimate--the power of stickers.

There is an extreme difference between yelling at a kid in front of the class and talking quietly with a kid at their desk.

Yelling makes you an instant enemy. Talking quietly shows what your voice-level expectations are.

Giving compliments can make you a trustworthy ally.

I really like subbing fifth grade, mostly because I've done it three times and now they know me and think I'm cool.

Even if they smell weird.

Each day of subbing always begins with an hour of panic because it's like the first day of school...every day. 

I don't know what the class routine is (and magically the students don't seem to, either).

Sometimes the teachers leave especially cryptic lesson plans. 

Every class has different protocol for bathroom breaks.

And there's always that one kid. 

The one kid who insists that the teacher gives him candy at the end of the day because she's definitely his aunt, who stuffs his hand in the basket of dried snake skins because they belong to him, who is suffering injustice every five minutes just because, and who always alwAYS ALWAYS has to pee.

Somehow that one kid usually ends up being a guy, and he's the one kid in the class whose name I certainly won't forget.

My heart hurts for the one kid. 

Even as a sub, I have really touching moments.

Talking to a boy out on the playground who comes from a really broken home but has specific dreams of joining the army and then going to college and becoming a dentist.

Seeing kids I subbed around town and hearing them say, "When are you coming to our class again?" 

Being told by a mom (who was at my dad's office where I happened to be working that day), "My son hung onto your every word when you told his class about China. He wouldn't stop talking about it."

I especially love it when I'm called Miss Love instead of the sub...which is short for, you know, 

Suberstar.

The Ginger Diaries: Entry of the Canine Barbarian

Dear Diary, 

The humans brought another canine to the den. 

It's been nary a month since the last canine left and didn't return. There was talk of "grief" and "mourning"--as if the humans expected me to shed petty cat tears over that smelly excuse for a plaything. 

Oh no, I was positively euphoric with my newfound sense of royalty. 

I was queen of the den. 

Finally, I received the choice bits from the table, I owned the soft human laps, I could shed my fuzzy orange fur wherever I deemed fit. For one glorious, short-lived month, the humans answered only to me.

Queen Ginger.

From my younger years as ruler.

The first imbecile dog who thought she was ruler. 

Then they brought that thing here. 

The new canine, the beast, the hairy hoarder of attention that stole every shred of joy I'd spent my whole existence working towards.

I thought that if I could only outlive the first furry fiend, I would have ultimate happiness, but

I underestimated the stupidity of my humans. 

There were whispered rumors of a new dog and some cursed place called the animal shelter, but I thought the mother human would never allow another canine in the den because she knew how much I valued her lap. I worked my queenly charms until I was sure the humans had forgotten love for anything but me. 

Then it came--the new, young, smelly, teeth-bearing monster that the humans call Heidi. 

It has ruined my life.

I can't eat. 

I can't sleep. 

My only solace is that the slobbering devil can't fit in the caves under the humans' sleeping places, and it is there that I find peace. 

The den is now a battleground that tests my speed and skills as I outrun the canine to survive. 

Here are some images of the barbarian:

The beast preparing to strike. 

 The mongrel's multicolored eyes. 

 The creature's ridiculous hindquarters. 

The mutt's absurd countenance shows it's aptitude for a life of subservience. To me.

Soon I may have to deploy the paw-pounding and hissing techniques passed down to me by my feline forefathers.

My only hope is that the brute can be forced into humble submission and that the reign of Queen Ginger may be restored to greatness once more. 

Viva la feline!

The Title Post

I'm weak.

That's right--I can't go more than two months without having a blog.
Sorry.

During my stint of blog-deprived nothingness that began in August, I thought, What would make a good title for the next one?
 I'm not in high school or college, I'm not in a foreign country, and I don't have a full-time job--so where's my theme?

Then I thought about the lesson I'm learning about living where I am, also known as 

blooming where I'm planted.

And I knew that the answer simply had to do with--tada--the right now. 

I've hit the awkward post-college pre-independent adult stage. 

Pinterest and artsy hipsters my age like to use pretty phrases for it like 

exploring your horizons

finding out who you are

living life to the fullest

and I like to use phrases like

I'm confused

what's going on 

wah.

So I'm learning how to live in the somewhat-themeless right now and be ok with where I'm placed, even though it may not look as fun or glamorous on facebook as my life did last year. 

And what does the "right now" look like for Laura? 

It looks like a few different things.

Driving a tiny yellow car named "Le'monjuice". 

Wreaking mayhem in my dad's office three days  a week (if you can call scanning medical charts "mayhem").

Subbing at a nearby elementary school two days a week. 

Doing my hair for work in one bathroom mirror while my teenage sister does her makeup for school in the other. 

Taking a lot of walks so that I can appreciate the fact that trees and grass grow here. 

Sleeping in the same bed and going to the same church as I did when I was ten.
Listening to a lot of country music because that's what plays most on the radio.
Hanging out with people my age every Sunday night at Discipleship Focus.
Being known as "Dr. Love's daughter".
("Oh, I see him! Didn't you go to China?)
Wondering if the last five years of my life really happened, or if I'm actually back in high school because I'm living in my parents' house again.

But I like my life right now. It's been a nice period of rest and re-acclimation and I'm definitely not complaining.

Here are pictures of some stuff that's happened over the last three months:

I jumped on a giant trampoline. 

I got one of the sillier sunburns of my life while tubing. 

I went to a few high school football games to watch Audrey flip pretty flags around.

I went hiking.

 And took a few walks around the neighborhood.

We put our dog down. Her name was Missy.

I went to Covenant College homecoming weekend with Christina, but first we went to a tea house and pretended to be old ladies.

I went hiking in North Carolina with Lisa (and we didn't stay on the trail...shhhh).

And I went to a corn maze with my Discipleship Focus friends (and the random chick in the hat who joined in our picture).