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.