"FUNDRAISING"

I hate the Jog-a-Thon.  I also love the Jog-a-Thon.  My push me/pull me thoughts about that event are complex and probably don’t make sense to anyone else but me.  I am not out to destroy the Jog-a-Thon.  I am just confused about an event that masquerades as something that it is not.

I hate it mainly for its misguided promotion.  The Jog-a-Thon is a PTO Fundraiser, “one in which every student participates.”  As a fundraiser, it is designed specifically, and solely, to raise money for the PTO.  I question why every student is required to participate in an event that raises money for the PTO.  They are not raising money directly for the school.  Students – and parents – do not have a choice in whether they choose to participate in the events of this fundraiser, despite the fact that they might never actually bring any money to the table for said fundraiser.  In our very own “Connection,” the PTO newsletter, it is stated that “Fundraisers are not mandatory,” yet every student at Burgess Elementary School runs (or hops in the Pre-School) during their regularly scheduled gym class.  This event is not held after school or on a weekend where it would be considered strictly voluntary.  No, it is held during the school day, as a part of the athletic curriculum.

I have a problem with that.

Following all the running, there is lap counting, leader board writing, money collecting, and finally, the pinnacle of the event for the students:  the medal ceremony.  Students in each grade who ran the most laps in the top three spots receive medals.  Although all students who participate in the event receive a gift, and all students who raise a minimum amount of funding receive a second gift, the medals are the pride, joy - and let-down - for most students.  The medals have, for many, become the focus of the event.  Each spring, children all over Sturbridge can be heard saying, “I’m going to get a medal this year!” as their determined hearts put their sights on an unknown number of laps that will guarantee that end.  I have never heard one student, or parent for that matter, say, “I’m going to raise the most money this year!”

It is obvious why we do no put the emphasis on the money itself as an individual goal:  not everyone has access to the money that someone else has.  Many parents struggle with meeting the basic needs of their families, while others are able to relatively easily live in a lap of luxury.  It would seem cruel to always put money as the defining characteristic for any student when it comes to being recognized by their peers, the faculty, or a parent organization.

Why then, is it OK to put the under-achieving, not-athletically-gifted students at the forefront of a “PTO Fundraiser?”  Whether or not they want to, every student is required to run laps.  No one has volunteered their athletic ability, or their glorious aspirations for the day.  The only volunteers are the parents who come out to punch cards and count laps. Yet, each student will be judged on the number of laps that they complete, and awarded an additional prize, to hang proudly, and boastfully around their necks.

(It shouldn’t matter, but I feel compelled to assuage the assumptions that I, or my children, suffer from sour grapes.  To the contrary, all three of my children have loved participating in the Jog-a-Thon.  Two out of three of them have earned a medal, repeatedly, in their time at Burgess.  They return each year to best themselves, in addition to achieving school-wide glory.  There are no sour grapes.  Their achievements are just as revered each year there is not a medal.)

So how can I possibly love the Jog-a-Thon?  Because it also brings out the best in so many students.  The returning joggers’ determination to place each year softens my contempt.  The will to shine, to achieve, and be distinguished from those who did not achieve, spurs on “training,” focus, camaraderie, and competition.    My own children’s indomitable spirit makes attending the event and cheering them on my focus.  I revel in their unwavering pursuit of every lap.  I am fulfilled by their untiring participation and untarnished belief in this event.  They motivate me to believe and be supportive.

I am not so motivated as to want to change the event to better serve my sense of fundraising or athleticism.  But, were the Jog-a-Thon to be revamped into a strictly volunteer event, held outside of school hours, with the full knowledge and expectation that the number of laps would correspond to the amount of money raised or donated, I would fully support it.  If elected participation included medals for high achievers, like so many charity road races do, again, I could “support” it, as all participants are entering of their own volition to sponsor a cause and triumph personally.  If the medals were removed from the current Jog-a-Thon handbook, I would be more inclined to support it.  But as the Jog-a-Thon is currently billed and executed, it is a flawed system that will continue to confound me.

It's Not Neglect

I’m giving myself permission to ignore my children.

I’m not going to ignore true cries for help, and if there’s blood I will definitely come running (blood stains, you know.)  I will respond to requests that include the words “hug,” “catching the bus,” and “make something for Daddy.”  I will also not ignore statements and questions that include the words “milk” and “healthy snack,” as well as “being outside” and “taking Jazz for a walk.”  But outside of that, I plan to ignore my children.

I’m not planning on ignoring them for frivolous gains like catching up on “my shows” or napping, although I would love to do those things.  Rather, I’m going to ignore them for the greater good for all of us: their independence and maturity as individuals and siblings, my sanity and blood pressure, and the creativity in all of us.

I’ve learned slowly not to intervene at the first sound of an argument.  Many times it rights itself before I’ve even entered the room.  I’ve discovered that they make the responsible, caring decision to include instead of exclude, share instead of being selfish, and give repetitive second chances instead of living life as if one incident, behavior, or snappish statement dictates the future of their relationships.  By ignoring them for a few minutes I get a moment to breathe deep, muster patience and decide “how else” I can handle the situation instead of storming their juvenile castle and throwing down my gauntlet of haggard, adult punishments.  Meant to obliterate the problem, they inevitably backfire due to overkill solutions and anxiety-induced anger.  When I ignore the daily outbursts, knee-jerk iPod and TV-focused requests, and calls for help on subjects they clearly already know how to handle themselves, they are forced to find a solution, recommit to finishing the required tasks and step up to complete or accomplish more than they felt they had the energy to do only moments before.  I get a few more minutes to decide if my attention to their request helps or impedes their development.  We all have the chance to discover something new about ourselves, as well as walk away with a sense of pride.

Ignoring my children will give me the opportunity to finish reading the article, page, or chapter that I can become engrossed in.  I can listen to what my husband is telling me, instead of head-nodding and “Uh-huh”ing him and then not remembering what I agreed to do.  I can take the time to enjoy his embrace, not hurry through it to replace it with conflict-resolution and frozen waffle-making.  I will complete the tasks I am caught up in so I don’t come back to them and wonder “Where was I?” or worse, become angry with my children because they took me away from something that now has become a problem:  a pot boiling over on the stove, the dog running out the door un-leashed, my husband’s equally important request for my ear, shoulder or a low-blood sugar necessitated snack.  Ignoring my children gives me back the sense that my needs, and the needs of others around me, are just as important.  It also shows them that their needs, although perceived as paramount in that moment, may need to take a backseat to something else.  It helps to remind them that the other relationships in my life, and my duties, require my attention.  Balance becomes the focus for all of us.

On a completely selfish level, ignoring my children allows me to remember what makes me happy:  reading, writing, sitting in the sun (not to get a tan, but just because I love the feel of the heat on my skin), getting through a grueling workout, working on a jigsaw puzzle, laughing at a stupid TV show, becoming enthralled all over again in the movie moments that defined my youth, and ironically, my children themselves.  By standing back and letting their lives continue around me I can take an avid spectator’s view of their world and their experiences.  I see them becoming the people they will be.  I see them develop a sense of humor, a willful determination, and a heart of gold, each of them having a different sized piece of those characteristics that will help to shape who they are.  I remember who they were as infants, babies, toddlers and preschoolers, and remark on the subtle to drastic changes that they have undergone.  By ignoring my children, I actually keep myself from missing them grow up.

Someday I hope my children look back and take my “ignorance” not for tough love, but for loving love.  I hope they learned that a good book is worth getting lost in.  Puzzles are a great distraction and help to let us see the larger picture in smaller detail, as well as the understanding that every piece is important.  I hope they all discover, and embrace, the writer within them.  I hope they remember less of my snappish moments, and more of my “All right, all right, it’s OK,” moments.  I pray they realize that not just the love of their mother and father, but the love between their mother and father is a part of who they are and how they got here.  I want them to look ahead and realize that their own needs will get lost in someone else’s someday, and that’s OK.  And it’s also OK to bring that focus back to themselves as some point.

But they better not ignore me – ever.

MY LOVE

I love my husband more and more every day.  That is not to say that there aren’t days that I don’t like him very much.  Unfortunately, there are more of those days than I care to admit.  I’m glad that I’ve never been overly obsessed to count them.  That is something that I might have done had we gotten married younger.  I would have bought a specific journal and began keeping notes on the days that he annoyed me or that I wanted to slap him on his bald head.  Then I would periodically go back and read my entries, ticking off the number of days in a year that he less than satisfied me.  And I would no doubt, be miserable.  It wouldn’t matter if those days in actuality outnumbered the days that I loved him dearly.  I would have in writing, as a constant reminder, the number of times that he had failed to understand me, please me, read me right, or reach out to me when I needed him the most.  And I would make that perception my reality and find it hard to be convinced that there was more, better, to our relationship.

We didn’t get married young, we didn’t get married quickly, and we didn’t get married blindly.  Ed and I had known each other for over eight years before we began dating.  We had looked at each other with ambivalence and disdain, depending upon the year, until one day we looked at each other with respect and interest.  We had both grown up and matured, loved and been heartbroken, become independent and future-minded.  We were both on the cusp of 30, me just before it, and he just after.  We wanted more than what we had in our early and mid-twenties.  Unbeknownst to the other, we had both made a silent, personal vow:  the next person we made love to would be the one we married.  Fortunately for us, that next person was each of us, for the other!

Ed and I have such a strong connection to each other when it is just the two of us.  When we have time alone, real time alone, we are all we need.  We laugh; we share tories without jealousy or guilt; we agree on what to do together; we share opinions, fears, dreams and goals; we touch.  And we touch some more.  When Ed and I get a few days away I can’t stop touching him.  It isn’t sexual, but it is desire.  It isn’t about getting into bed, but about getting into his heart.

I know that Ed believes that “Affectionate Touch” is his primary love language, and I would instinctively say the same about me.  I have doubted whether we knew ourselves well enough to admit if maybe we were both wrong.  I used to assume that Ed’s primary love language was “Words of Affirmation.”  But I have found over the years that it doesn’t seem to matter how much I tell him he is doing a great job as a husband, father and man.  Somehow he always feels that I am not happy, or that he is not satisfying me.  Maybe if we would both just touch more, we would both have full love tanks.

Which is why when we get time away from the kids to refocus on us, I think that we do connect so well.  I want to hold his hand, rub his head, run my hands down his back, stroke his leg and knee when we sit next to each other, and otherwise be close to him.  It is instinctive.  I don’t have to remind myself to do it.  It comes naturally because I just want to do it, and because it gives me pleasure, too.  I like the feel of him.  His skin is always soft, even if he hasn’t lotioned.  His hand holds mine firmly, yet gently.  He guides me through public places with an heir of protection.  I love that he is big!  He makes me feel beautiful, sexy and wanted.  I reach out to him because I want to capture every piece of him and keep him with me.  I touch him so that I can remember what he feels like until the next time I touch him.

I would never change our life for anything.  We both agree that we have amazing children who make our family what it is.  We would never risk changing any of them for want of having done things a little differently.  I think we reconnect so easily because we feel like we didn’t have enough “us” time before children.  Yet we are excited that we will be young enough to enjoy each other once the kids are off becoming their own people.  For now, we don’t rush their childhood.  We don’t long for it to be over.  We don’t wish for high school graduations.  We simply anticipate the bittersweet days of childhoods that are the past, adulthoods that will take shape, and the rebirth of the two of us on a more consistent basis.

Ed has answered all of my hopes and dreams for a husband – and then some.  He loves my body, varicose veins and stomach pooch, included.  He supports my desire, and “plans” to become a published writer.  He plans for our future, takes care of our present, and tolerates my occasional romps into the past with “Remember…?” rants.  He dreams, plans, and executes the rational and the extravagant events that are our life.  He keeps me and the kids safe and secure, entertained and active, happy and home-bodied.

I love Ed more and more each day.  I know a day will come sooner than I want it to that will have me wanting to slap his bald head.  On that day, I won’t remember how I feel right this minute.  I’ll wonder how I could feel anything other than frustration and despair.  But there isn’t a journal that will have another blank page ready for the scrawling of an angry, confused and misunderstood wife.  There will be nothing to mark that day as another day that our marriage didn’t go as planned.  Rather it will be a day that I will look back on at another time and wonder how I could feel that way.  It will just be another day.  And fortunately it will be another day that I marvel at the fact that no matter how unhappy I may feel on any given day, I always come back to my husband.  I always know where I belong.  I will thank him for loving me.  And I will love him more than I ever thought possible.