Mother North

A sisterhood of orienting arrows.

I noticed something special this week.
Something so tiny, I almost missed it.

When I was at uni, I started babysitting for my lecturers’ children. Predominantly, their youngest daughter, Aliya - who was just a wee little curly haired poppet at the time.

Now that she’s a teenager and we’ve recently moved close to them again, we asked her to be our babysitter. It is the CUTEST full circle moment. She’s good to her absolute core, this one. Sweet and kind and courageous and honest, and outrageously wise for her age.

She was over last week hanging out with the girls, whilst I tried to get some last minute things organised before Lumi’s birthday.

Lumi is enamoured with drawing at the moment, so they did quite a bit of that.

When she left, the girls ran to show me the drawing Aliya had done on a little scrap of paper.
"It’s you Mum! Making chai on the stove!” Halo told me excitedly.
And so it was. A blue texta stick figure picture of me making chai on the stovetop.

This tiny moment felt powerful to me. As though it held echoes of years gone by.

I remembered all my years of babysitting for kids in our neighborhood.
And I remembered this exact dynamic.
This intuitive need to keep redirecting kids’ minds back to their Mummas.
To mention their names often.
To marvel out loud at their creativity, their cooking, their strength and their playfulness.
To make cards for them.
To pick them flowers.
It is so familiar to me, that memory. That instinctive desire to keep turning their faces back to their sun.

What is this?

This is the magic of women I think.
This is the way it was all meant to be.
This is the sisterhood doing what all good village communities should.
Honouring the Mother.
In tiny moments, actions and words, over and over in the face of impressionable, excitable little ones.

Women who become orienting arrows, consistently pointing towards Mother North.
Both companion and compass.

x
Lysette