On the Magic of Matriarchs.

Becoming a grand mėre with grace and style.

I feel a sense of deep devotion in regards to women embracing all of our phases and faces--especially when it comes to celebrating our initiations into maturity.

I love the French terms for grandmother: "mémé", "grand-mère", "grand-maman", "bonne-maman".

They're classy and respectful.

My granddaughters call me, "Uma", which is not only the name of a famous actress (who I've been said to resemble), but the divine feminine (goddess) representation, for whom she was named. We've also got a couple of family jokes that revolve around that name, and for all of those reasons, plus it's easy to say, is why I chose it for my grandma name.

Grandmothers are more than bleary-eyed, sweet, old, doting women.

We are matriarchs.

We are wisewomen.

We are elders.

We are fierce and full of love.

We're not perfect, we never were, and we never will be.

Our children didn't survive their childhood to become parents, themselves, because we excelled at knitting and baking--but because we pulled all the care and courage we could muster from our wombs, and the marrow of our bones and fed it to them.

Depending on when this initiation visits us, (I was just shy of 40), we may still be in the fullness of motherhood, ourselves.

We may be edging cronedom.

We've left behind the blush and sometimes foolishness of maidenhood, and incorporated it into something bigger, more vast, and more encompassing.

Whatever else we may be--we are most certainly sorceresses.

Motherhood is magic. Why would grandmotherhood be anything less?

To be clear, I'm not advocating for women to cling to our youth; that's impossible, exhausting, and the ultimate trap laid out for us by many social stigmas.

I'm inviting us to embrace the power, complexity, and beauty of our maturity--and rock-the-hell-out in the process.

Show me your grand mėre photos, if so inspired. I wanna see you, sorceresses.

Lotsa love,

Justice