Tribal Connection

I love my (our) new tribe!

I was so worried that I'd scare them off with my tendancy to overwhelm and strangle people with information, that I was delirious with relief after they left tonight.

They are both too cute. First, Mom 1 is a teacher. She's a delight and probably has a lot of great craft ideas (because, although I am artistic... I am not really craft-y, they are two very different skills). Mom 2 is an experienced camper. While camping may have scared off a friend of mine, certainly a few bugs in a tent won't frighten this camper enthusiast. I cannot use their real names because of my spiritual agreement with my husband, we do not soul-steal and use their real life names.

I was very proud of the facts that I strove to cover : our responsibilties to sponsor a minimum of two events (please, let's do the easier ones!), our costs for vests and membership, and wampum or monthly club dues. I aim to be very upfront about money and costs. With gas prices these days, I think it'll be close to a sin to ignore any costs involved with the group.

Or Club. "Club" was Mom 2's smart word. It makes sense. Our little girls understood "Club" more readily than "Tribe".

What is our "Club"'s name?
Our darlings suggested....

Earth
Blue Dolphins
Butterflies
Sparkle
(something with) Princesses
and my personal favorite
Silverfish

We'll decide this summer how we will name ourselves, and my goodness, begin our TRIBE. Wahoo!

I Scream Dreams

Pretty soon, the screaming will stop. Pretty soon, the screaming will stop. I count the books in the Borders store window. I mentally outline their sign. Pretty soon, the sceaming will stop. As if in response to my inner mantra, my daughter's thunderous tear-fed shouting diminished to a soul wracking struggle of sobs. I eye her cautiously. I offer a hand in a gesture, are you ready for me? She slaps my hand away and a new indignant wail ensues. Pretty soon, the screaming will stop.

I admire the Adventure Guide Mom in me. I pause to thank her. Thank you, AGM, for holding back my instinct to scream just as bloody hard.

Years ago, pre AG, I was a proud little bully of a mom. Do this, do that, no, no, no, stop, come back here, stop, do that again and you will lose your toy! My angelic son tolerated me for years. One day, during the Adventure Guide program, I realized my son was only a child, seeking to belong. And what was I doing? Showing him how out of place he was. I credit the program, but truly the people (Thanks, Sheltering Aerie! Running Spring! Lightning! and... LG , I forget your guide name, sorry! Thanks, Windsong! Thanks to all my Blazing Blackfoot sisters!) are who showed the light onto the path that I now strive to earn the right to walk.

The screaming is again subsiding. Rainbow Bunny learned earlier that I cannot afford to buy her a toy at this store. No. Correction. She learned that I refused to buy her a toy, am an evil mother, probably will starve her beyond recognition, and, of course, am likely saying mean things about her to her brother. "Afford" is not in her five year old vocabulary.

AG mom, where are you?


I am here, relax, don't worry. Everything will be fine. Ignore anyone who looks at you. (http://mom-101.blogspot.com/2006/11/sanctimommy.html) Outlast. Outlast.

Outlast? This volcano of emotion? AG Mom, you've spent too much time with patient, angelic Little Puffin. That's not reality. I steal a glance at my hyperventilating princess. That, that is reality.

Spending more time with my children over the past few years has improved me as a parent. Many parents, driven by the parameters of their lives, also drive their children to sports, from afterschool care, to a friend's house, to their next drop off point, but never truly spend time with them. By concentrating on Rainbow Bunny these past few days I've learned that she can swim "if I'm careful" in "the deep" (a resonant phrase for the place in the pool where toes cannot reach), she truly loves her brother ("No wait. He needs his goggles!) and ...sometimes... loves me, too. ("See my drawing? That's you!"). Because I have spent more time with her, I understand this too, shall pass.

Silence.

Without trying to show too much interest, I casually pick up my car keys. "Are you ready?" I ask. "Okay", is the heated reply, as Rainbow Bunny slams her bottom in her chair. She's not done being mad, but she wants to go home now. Now.

Ready, AG Mom?

Ready.

Mom-101: Failing Gloria Steinem Once Again?

Mom-101: Failing Gloria Steinem Once Again?

Name Calling

My husband reminded me that I had had my children's real names on the blog. Cautious as he is, I relented and went back and changed them, because, well it gave me another reason to write.

In the Adventure Guides, children and parents become someone else. They choose a very special name, name themselves, and has been in my case, name their parents. In a spiritual sense, you are supposed to Leave Behind your Other Self and Become the Adventure Guide... it's rooted in the Native American history of the program, which is very interesting. You should check out the national YMCA link on this page.

In general, due to the Native American  origins, there has been traditional names of tribes (Blackfoot, Pawnee, etc) and persons (Big Chief, Little River, etc). Over time, the Indian Guides (as it was once known) became the Adventure Guides. According to political gossip, its change is pinpointed to a time when somewhere on the East Coast, a group of Indian Guides wore war paint and whooped it up during a parade, alarming and insulting the Native Americans who viewed this. Honestly, I'm glad it changed over to Adventure Guides. The name speaks more accurately of the purpose of the program and is more cross cultural, therefore, acceptable to me.
Who, if they are Chinese, wants to be part of an "Indian" club? I believe even Native Americans don't like that term "Indian". In fact, speaking of accuracy, Indians should correctly refer to East Indians. I like how one of our current father-daughter tribes put it, when he showed me a special design he was making for a patch: a shadow of a dancing girl. When queried by the patch company, why black (the shadow)? He replies, there are so many persons of color in our tribe, we use the shadow to represent everyone, no one gets left out. I like how he did that.

Enter modern times and modern creativity. Tribe names have blossomed into Pacific Frontiersman (I like the frontier, rugged image), Dancing Sunshine (a father-daughter tribe) and Dancing Barbies (you guessed it... a father-daughter tribe). There are others. Somehow we cannot rid ourselves of callng ourselves "tribes", but no matter. Technically, a tribe is not necessarily Native American as you can be an African Bushman and have a tribe.

Children and parent names have also been creative. If you remember Man of the House starring Chevy Chase, names like "Spotted Feather" and "Squatting Dog" might come to mind. Some of the parent-children get a little creative: Sunshine and Moonshine (Guess who the parent is) or sentimental, Sheltering Aerie (parent of a Soaring Eagle) or risky: Sinking Stone (my son named me this. I think he overhead my opinion on camping, early in the program). Yes, there is a Running Bare. He's a wonderful dad to his daughter. Halfway into the program, my son renamed himself Little Puffin, because he admired the gentle and fun Dances with Penguins, a former Federation Captain (Big Honcho of the Program). I once again allowed him to name me... Big Puffin. You can only imagine the "Puffin" jokes that abounded. What you puffin? Who's puffin? my daughter is Powder Puff and my husband is Puff Daddy, etc. I would like amend he named me Big in the sense of Spirit and Intelligence.

So anyway, that's why there are so many interesting names in these articles. I can call a spade a a spade, but not if he's Johnny Walking, or Loose Goose or Shimmering Delight.

The Beginning was Quiet

I set out a few months ago to develop my daughter's new tribe. I was in effect, daughter-stealing. Rainbow Bunny had been enjoying herself in her dad's father-daughter tribe, but after much discussion, my husband and I decided that a good switcheroo was in order. Especially since my now nine year old son has spent the last four years growing more exasperated with my motherly ways. I needed someone on whom I could work off my parent-guilt, and I glommed onto my daughter. Daughter stealing sounds a little ancient, almost tribal, and therefore... perfectly acceptable.

Recruitment for our program was turning up very few fish. I could easily join another mother-daughter tribe within our program, but after experiencing tribe blending twice now, I can say that nothing beats the magic of building a tribe together. Besides, my daughter is a bit youngish, and, as parents know, not every child wants to be the "baby" in a group.

My hope was fading, until I slipped an article about the group into my daughter' school newsletter. Desperation actually had me interview myself and publish the tiny article.

Near the end of the school year, the phone rang. I never pick up the phone. The phone has become a deadly weapon in the hands of telemarketers and the answering machine my one shield of defense. I got the sweetest message. I learned about a new mom and her interest in the program. You could have been waving raw meat in front of a tiger's cage, I was so pent up with emotion and energy. Perhaps raw meat is not a way to describe a future friend.

After a short introduction at a recruitment session, even more delighted was I when she mentioned a friend. Three! A total of three so far in the tribe! Ideally, six or seven is great, but I could work with three, as for a time in the program, I was a "tribe" of two with my friend Lisa. I also knew of another person who might join, so happily, I look forward to becoming a tribe of four.

The school year wound down to a heart-stopping close and I dialed her number as promised. She replied via voicemail she could meet Thursday. Oh wahoo!

I hope I won't scare her off. This, uncomfortably, was becoming similar to prospecting for dates. Do I push forward? Hold back? Ask about her family? No! Too personal! Too pushy! Smile a lot? A little? I sigh. Just relax. This program will sell itself, because there is nothing like it. Nothing at all.

Fear of the Known

This is my second run through with the Adventure Guides and I am a little bit afraid.

Afraid that this time, with all my promises of focusing on my child, I will repeat my errors and neglect my sweetie. No. I will not think that. I do not believe that.

The Adventure Guides is an incredible program. It is essentially an organized play group with camping, crafts, hikes, museum and movie trips, etc. It's more fun that your average parent group because there are regular structured creative events and all that adult commiserating happens over a campfire.

No! This time it will be all about my daughter!

The first run through was with my son, my first born delight. It was accidental. Initially I sought out information for my husband, but as his work committments increased, he foresaw he'd be unable to commit. I couldn't bear to disappoint my son so I joined with him. The AG program is designed around a parent-child membership. I was looking forward to finger painting with him. He was five at the time.

I was unaware of the gravity of my decision when another new member, Valerie, informed me of the upcoming campouts, and wasn't that exciting?

HOLD! Camping? Me?

I do not believe camping is a natural thing. I was born in modernity, with a refrigerator, clean socks and drip coffee. This filled me with more dread than a third child. My ancestry is Native Hawaiian, if I wanted to dig taro roots and make my poi, I have that opportunity... but I BUY my poi. For a reason.

I couldn't imagine sloshing around with God's creatures either. I mean, they live out THERE. I live INSIDE. That is how things work.

After a miserable foray into Big Five Sporting Goods, I purchased some "camping stuff". I even bought beef jerky. I mean, it's camping food, isn't it? My husband assured me his army tent would work out fine.

When I had arrived at my first camp out with my son, I arrived in the dark. That army tent proved to be a canvas octopus, and an angry one at that. I suffered mightily for my camping sins. Later, my son enjoyed sleeping in our SUV. I explained it was like a "spaceship" and wasn't it nice to have a window?

Three years later, I've graduated to a pop up tent (that infamous army tent is still in our garage... why, I don't know), a campside drip coffee maker (fabulous!) and a headlamp for my baseball cap. I still constantly replace flashlights. I think there might be some alien creature in our garage that feeds on them.

Throughout those three years, I tried various jobs within the organization, determined to support the program, and found myself swept away by additional responsiblities. You see, I was also carting around my three year old daughter. The combination equated to very little actual time spent with Little Puffin. Upon reflection, it is actually pretty disappointing. You could think, well, she could have organized her time better, etc etc etc. But maybe. Maybe not. It really comes down to priorities.

This year, Little Puffin will graduate into the "older kids" program, Trailblazers, and enjoy time with his dad. I am aiming to redeem myself with my daughter this time around.
Wish me luck.