Weaving Threads

Just as I was ready to settle down with a glass of wine yesterday evening, I heard those words uttered from my 12year old, guaranteed to strike terror into any parent - "I've just washed my hair, can you plait it into a million tiny plaits??" Oh. Well, I talked her down from a million to about 25 - that kid has alot of hair - and so off I started. But then that rare, blissful moment, as I tuned into a different scene. A cosy sitting room, late winter storm outside. Theo on the sofa playing with little metal soldiers, lost in his own world; Holly sitting reading while her hair was transformed. Mark sitting with us, all of us quiet and busy in our own things. But together. No television, no arguing. Just quietness. And I thought, hold onto this, it is surely precious. A small moment of just being normal.

Holly and I have two identical woven bracelets made of wool around our wrists. One red, one green. The red one we made together back in September, when we were at the amazing 13 Moons festival on Dartmoor. A large tent of powerful women, threading a long piece of red thread around us all, which later got made into our warrior bracelets. Holly had just started secondary school - a big old wobbly time for all the family - and needed to find a bit of her own power. The green bracelets she made for us both a couple of weeks ago, "to bind us together mummy". I guess she can't see that thread that was there between us at her birth, and will always be there, silent and strong in my heart. But I remember thinking, how much longer will my growing girl want to be so visibly joined to me. She is nearly ready to step onto that path that pulls away from me, that strong journey to herself. And how it aches me. So for now, I am wearing my green and red threads, as is she. And it feels so good to be still woven entirely into and around this childs life.