What's in a name?

New blog!  Welcome to all the TC readers who are joining me from my old blog.  That one kind of petered out and died at the same time my marriage did I'm afraid.  I was so raw and exposed already, I couldn't bare myself any more.  Plus there's the whole inability to write when miserable factor.

But NO MORE.  I've been thinking of starting a new blog for some time now.  I went overseas with my Dad for five weeks a couple of months ago and while I was there I remembered who I am and what I stand for.  I came back home determined to keep hanging onto that and to not fall back to the place of desperation.  Since then I've been flirting with starting a new blog to go with the new life, but I didn't know whether I could be honest and real yet and I wasn't sure what to call it.  I needed to be more sure of myself.  I needed to start with a name.

Names in my world are important.  My children have names of significance, ties to the people who love them.  I consider it a part of the armour I've equipped them with for the world.  My name is a curious thing.  Hardly anyone calls me Rebecca.  Most of my friends call me Bec.  My Dad calls me Rebow.  Some call me Ginger and one instance this got extended to Ginger Ninja and then just Ninja.  My brother calls me Becca Becca.  Even my kids are different. The big one calls me Mama, the little one calls me Mummy.  My previous blog was a nod to a nic name my sister gave me.  I never thought about all the names I wear until my marriage went south.  I was always "kitten" or "sweetie" to the ex but in his rage as our marriage dissolved he would use my name like a weapon.  It hurt so much at first and then I thought, hang on a minute, first of all, this is your real name and second of all, why does the label someone gives you matter?

From that moment on I decided it didn't matter what anyone called me providing I knew who and what I am.  Providing I stand for the things I believe in and refuse to bow or compromise purely for the satisfaction of another.  This new blog is about the new path I'm forging on my own and the identity I'm reclaiming and building on.  So the name has to fit what I think of myself and who I really am.

As I forge my new life, build a home for my children based on my desires and needs alone, I am conscious of a part of me growing that has been dormant for some time.  Usually I'm a very laidback, easygoing person.  Someone once said that if I was any more laidback I'd be comatose.  But I've always been capable of furious, righteous, vengeful fury on behalf of others...especially my children.

I remember the first time I was literally blind with rage.  My three-year-old daughter came home from daycare and was quieter than usual.  Sat on my lap, sucked her thumb.  Not herself at all.  My husband related an incident with the preschool teacher that occurred when he'd gone to collect her.  Charlotte had asked for a "memory box" that the other children were taking home and there hadn't been one for her.  The teacher had taken her aside to "deal with this" as she'd explained to the ex.  She'd spoken quietly to Charlotte, the thumb went in and she'd been subdued ever since.  I started talking to Charlotte about memory boxes, what they were and I said don't worry darling, we can make one ourselves.  And then she quietly said, "No Mama, I can't."
I asked her why not and she said, "Because I'm a naughty girl and naughty girls can't have nice things".

I still remember the name of that wretched teacher and I remember how this odd buzzing sound started in my ears and my vision clouded over in red.  For the first time in my life I felt sure I could kill someone with my bare hands.  It felt like large black leathery wings were spreading out of my back.  I remember the ex looking at me wide-eyed while I sat there and just saying, "Perhaps I'll have a word with the centre tomorrow..."

At the time I felt like a demon unleashed but fast forward a couple of years to a weekend at my Dad's where he was constantly raving about the "tiger mother" he'd read about in Time magazine.  My very smart, precocious daughter was never in favour with my father.  She's so darn smart she thinks she's on par with the adults around her and he's from the "because I'm older than you and I said so" generation.  They were always at loggerheads and this particular weekend he was constantly bringing up the tiger mother style of parenting in front of her.  Finally she rolled her eyes, turned to him, cocked her hip and said, "Yeah well my Mama's a DRAGON MAMA".
"What's a dragon Mama?" my father asked suspiciously.
"It's exactly the same as a tiger mother," my daughter informed him, "Except that she's on my side".

Welcome to the Lair of the Dragon Mama.  Enjoy your stay and don't fuck with my kids*.

*  My kids = my actual kids, my family, my extended family, my friends, my staff, my co-workers and anyone remotely connected to me or in my vicinity in need of protection.  Righteous anger.  I has it and I will use it.