A workshop - into womanhood words Christine Lander artwork Tina Pappasavvas Christine Lander is a full time mother and part time nurse. She loves dogs, walks on the beach and a very good book. She is also an amazing cook (but she didn’t write that part!).
My eldest child—my daughter—was turning twelve. A few in our parent group at school put our heads together and came up with a plan… we would gather our girls and put on a workshop! As mothers and women, we were concerned that the start of their menstruation could be a difficult, scary time and we wanted something positive for them. We had heard of a wonderful woman who ran sessions for girls on just this issue. We wanted the girls to be comfortable with each other and themselves in this—we wanted to honour them, shower them with understanding and offer them a sense of history in womanhood.
My daughter is quite, quite different from me. She is shy, quiet and sensible. I, on the other hand, can be a little loud, occasionally clumsy in movement and language. I love an audience! Before the event, my daughter had expressed her worries that I might, ‘Insist on being funny, try and make people laugh and be the centre of attention. Could I please be low key, not go first, not make speeches? Just chill out!’. ‘No worries,’ I said, and I really meant it. This was her day and I would be still and quiet. My idea for my contribution was to show a dear photo of the four generations of women in our family together, and to share an age old soup recipe our family cannot date.
Unbelievably, I completely forgot that the mandala was there. I went sliding straight through the centre of it, sending thousands of perfectly placed beans skidding noisily (and seemingly taking forever to stop) across the studio. I froze. I looked around. Each and every mother looked at me, silently expressing a mountain of sympathy for me and at the same time, trying hard to suppress their laughter. I know all these wonderful women well, thankfully…Then everyone started to laugh out loud (except two of us). Devastated, I looked around at my girl, she was hanging her head with her finger and thumb pinching the bridge of her nose saying, ‘Good on you, Mum’. I was devastated. What could I do? Firstly, I got on my hands and knees and most pathetically and feebly tried to put those wretched little beans into some order. That was just really silly. Eventually our workshop host asked me to stop and sit, thank God. Later, when our task was to write a written message to each girl, I wrote, ‘Sorry about the mandala!’ to every one of them.
Funnily enough, it wasn’t such a big deal for my daughter. In the car on the way home I told her how sorry and devastated I was for her and how We met our daughters. They had been working tobad I felt about it all. She responded positively. gether to make a beautiful mandala. It was stunApart from her being embarrassed about my ning. They had been working with dried beans behavior, she didn’t need to find forgiveness—she of all sorts of colours and shapes. It really was a knows how hopeless I can be sometimes… sight to behold. The mandala was the centrepiece I am compelled to tell this story as it really signifies of the space where we gathered. The mothers for me how you can blend reverence with real were each to take a turn to move to the front of the room with the children and mothers surround- life and humour. This workshop was lovely for the girls, it was special, it held reverence for them ing this beautiful and remarkable centerpiece. I as young women experiencing menarche and didn’t go first, I waited. I went second—not too beyond. forthright, not last, just second—perfect. I stood page
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rites of passage
We nailed it! The shape of it was indeed a workshop. We dropped the girls off in the morning to a wonderfully quiet studio. The girls were about to embark on a beautiful day of stories; about history, women, traditions as well as some functional physiology (albeit delivered in a most gentle manner). We were to meet the girls at lunchtime with some delicious food. Our job was to share our food and a story or snippet of relevance. Some mothers brought family christening gowns and stories of their mothers and grandmothers. Others told stories of their different cultural practices.