Name Check

"Rebecca. What's my name?"

My five year old sweetness and light looks at me, a bit distracted. I am talking to her while she is watching Pocahontas. "Rainbow Spot."

"Are you sure?" I pressed. I couldn't help it. I'm not fully mature. I still a little sensitive about my name. A name is POWER. So far, I am a laundry stain.

"Okay, okay," she says, and I brighten up a bit. "You can be…" she thinks. Her eyes spy my t-shirt. "Spongebob."

"Spongebob", I repeat.

"Or Squidward." This isn't getting better.

"Or you know, you can be a…a… superhero…"

"Yes?"

"Spiderman or you know, you can wear glasses, and be… uh, uh, " She frowns, concentrating. She's silent for awhile.

She shrugs, at a loss for a superhero with glasses, perhaps.

Her eyes wander away from me, back to the dancing maiden on the screen.

"I don't know, Mom. You're still Mom, aren't you?" She says off-handedly.

Yes. I'm Rainbow Spot. And I'm still Mom. Ah, to heck with it.

Name Power

    It may be the spiritual, mystical Earth mother inside me, but names have always been an interest of mine. Not purely for social reasons but all for what I perceive to be the meaning, the power, and the destiny of the name holder. Many cultures regard a name as something of such significance that parents spend hours, perhaps longer, reviewing names, consulting prayer leaders or shamans (perhaps named differently in their culture). I have spent a lot of time agonizing over the natural names for my children, much longer poring through their potential Hawaiian names, prior to their earthly arrival. So naturally I looked forward to my new Adventure Guide name with my daughter.

    My husband, Red Thunder, said it was silly to change names from child to child. I had graduated AG with my son, Little Puffin, and had carried the weight of Big Puffin as my AG name. My son had named me. Tell me. If you were named Big Puffin, and you had a chance for a re-christening, what would YOU do?

    Actually, I, in the Adventure Guide spirit, believe it's important to allow the child to participate as much as possible in the tribe, including naming themselves and naming their parent. I thought it was an interesting twist: the child naming the parent. I looked on it as a transfer of power. The child gained the power over the parent. But the parent allowed this happen, so I looked at it as a balance. I am quite pleased with this philosophy.

    Previously, my capricious son had named me twice, growing bored with his name, thus compelled to rename me in conjuction. My first name was Sinking Rock. It became Sinking Stone for the benefit of alliteration. I think it had to with his perception of my enthusiasm about camping. His name at the time was Blue Spotted Wave. I thought it was a cold, leprous, wet name but shrugged, it was his name, and he was proud of it. To name yourself is to confer an independence to yourself, I believe. He then changed his name to Dark Cyclone. I think he was feeling, as he grew from five to six, the need to be more "grown up". He didn't feel like changing my name. I don't think he really remembered what he named me, always calling me MOM.

    Suddenly he remembered he had a deep affection for Dances with Penguins, a former Federation Captain. He became Little Puffin. By default, his being Little, I therefore became Big. I am grateful he wasn't Smart or Handsome Puffin (which he could very well have been). It was something I understood but endured. It appeared as he grew from eight to nine, he became sentimental, returning to a memory of his younger childhood, asking for more hugs along the way. He was again Little and no longer something dark or powerful.

"SO…"

"Yes?"

"Rebecca. What name did you pick for yourself? You know for your new tribe?"

"Shooting Star. No, Shooting Rose."

"Shooting Rose?" I thought of a pretty flower with a serious attitude problem. How perfect.

"No. I said Shooting Star."

Sigh.

"Yes, of course. That's very pretty."

"No it's not!"

"Yes, you're right. What did you want to name me?" I asked to change the subject but also because I was curious.

"Hmmm."

"Well?" I prompted.

"Hmmm. Uh, Spot."

I blinked. I look at her to see if she was laughing at me. No, she wasn't.

"Well, thank you. Um, could you… " my voice trailed off. Well, am I keeping with my aforementioned principals of allowing the child to have the power, the child be in charge? No, I wasn't. But dang it, I am not being called SPOT.

"How about adding a color?" I suggested.

"Okay. White."

"White Spot?"    I could hear my husband laughing in my mind. I don't want to go into it. "No, not white. No, not white." Okay, having giving up my principals, I threw in the entire handtowel. Or handbasket. Whatever the phrase is.

"Yellow?" She looked at me helpfully. Noooooooo. Not yellow!

"Red?" I have to give her credit, she was really trying.

"Okay, Spot. I'll take Spot. But how about Rainbow?"

"Rainbow Spot?" She asked. I couldn't lose with every single color.

She frowned.

"I don't know."

"Okay, then Spot for now. Okay? For now."

She grinned.

I don't think my daughter needs a transfer of power.

If anything, I think I can borrow some from her.

If she'll let me.

Higher Calling

For me, naming our tribe has always been an adventure in parent hope.

In the past, my son and I had tribe names akin to snakes or fire. A boys' group. Although the higher part of me says, "Oh, it's their tribe, let them name the tribe", I always cringed a bit at being a "flaming" something or some type of reptile. So I was looking forward to my daughter's new tribe naming efforts. Would we be something magical, like The Princess Moonbeams? Pretty like Blossoming Butterflies? Traditional like Maidens? Fierce like Xena, Warrior Princess?
The three girls had made a list and I encouraged them to read the list and to "mix up" the words, to come up with new variants.

In a previous post, you may recall some of their excited and enthused choices. I'll repeat them plus add a few developments:

(Anything) princesses
Ocean
Dolphins
Silverfish (after a bit of blinking, I realized this patch could be rather pretty: like a shiny lobster)
Daffodils
Ladybug Bears (a bit like a chimera, I think, head of a ladybug, body of a bear)
Ladybugs
Angels
Butterflys
Angel Butterflys (or vice versa)


Our historian, Blue Rose, had us do a craft of rainsticks out of paper towel rolls and glue. (It's interesting because she has some Native American heritage, and I think this will prove a compelling addition to our tribe.)

Thus, at the night of the craft, came the wave (ahem) of water based names:

Rain makers
Angels
Raindrops
Rain flowers

After raising hands, marking names, and voting and voting, trying to be as fair as possible, we were between Ladybug Bears and Angel Butterflies. I made the mistake of asking for one more vote, because I wanted the three little girls to like the name, and my stubborn, precocious (that's the nice word) daughter wasn't participating as much I'd like. Well, in a whirl of passion, I read the names out loud again, and Rain Angels became the new favorite. In their giggly excitement, looking back, I think I could have said Bugeyed Spotted Bears with Wings, and they would have agreed.

Relieved (it's always the parents that stress the most over this: okay, I'll be honest, it's usually ME), I realized I wasn't a burning reptile, and became quite happy. Although, the image of a wet, possibly bedraggled, angel was a bit dampening (ahem), but I thought, who knows? If you live in the clouds, you're bound to get wet. What angel couldn't shake off a bit of water?