SHE // Danielle Bennett

October 25, 2016

She is a patient gardener,
and if you ask her soil how it became so rich,
it will tell you how she has always been more willing to listen to what it needs
than waiting to speak it into moving at the pace of her understanding.
Her silence is terrifying because you know
the next time she opens her mouth to speak
she will mean every ounce of it.
When she speaks
there is so much permission in her love
and holy on her breath
you cannot help but sit like you are budding toward the sky,
you cannot help but believe you are every bit as necessary
as you were created to be.
She is so gorgeous in the absence of need for attention
You can’t help but notice her still waters, even when
she moves at the speed of hustle.
She is the realest and cool with it because she is
rested in the knowing she is new.
She is unashamed of being happy,
and is not bracing herself for the next hard thing,
her hands are too busy receiving the day and its gifts.
She has the audacity to act like the queen she is, and
she doesn’t complain about the myriad requests for her time or
going unrecognized or the weight of the crown because
she knows it is the lightest load she has ever carried and
in the Kingdom every night is a feast she doesn’t strive to earn so
she can give it all away because she knows
there is always more where that comes from.
She treats this city like a palace
she has been entrusted to care for and keep,
every stranger a guest she looks in the eyes with her love
so others feel called up by the way she chooses well.
Discipline is a gown she wears like she is
never afraid of being the best dressed person in a room.
She is a warrior in the tent of a king with a permanent win,
She trains and sharpens the blade so
she can keep that badge of justice on fire to fight for those without defense,
and when they ask her “what about you?”
she points to her scars and her vibrant pulse
as a reminder of the times death nearly held her in its nasty jaws
and still she lives, and lives well, so she doesn’t
question that she is covered and seen and doesn’t
need to go around making a case for herself anymore.
She has stood inside the eye of a tornado enough times to know how to stay
even when circumstance wants to chess piece her
into some place she can’t be so blinding,
but she is sensitive enough to the wind to know when she needs
to start walking away, and
she doesn’t mind how long the journey will take because
even on days she can’t shake the fog, she trusts
she has never really been in control.
And she has seen a succulent survive enough times to know
she is much stronger than she thinks, so
she is tenacious in her commitment to a covenant,
no matter what the cost –
she calls the things she’s lost a necessary shedding of skin.
She is the skyscraper we look for on the 101 that reminds us we are home.
If you ask her how she got so tall,
she will show you the days she spent clearing the debris
so the concrete could be poured in clean and deep
She will show you the moons who knew her fear of heights           ,
and the mornings she woke with the gumption to keep growing anyway.
If you ask her how she got so tall she will bend her own steel
into staircase so you can get the best view,
She will remind you that you
can be built even higher.
She belongs in the book spine and woven into textures
She belongs with platform for all the truth in her bones
She belongs at the negotiations table and written into code
She belongs elbow-deep in flour and memos
She doesn’t have to chase her dreams – she outpaces them.
She doesn’t need to have it all together to have it all.
She is strange – doesn’t always make perfect sense
But she is perfect in the way she makes her presence
A place where you can rest.
Her best beauty trick is knowing where she comes from and
not apologizing for where she’s going.
She is an augmented 9th – the musician’s unresolved note,
lovely in her complexity, and
she doesn’t know she will always walk in and kill it
but she knows there is no room that can tell her what she is and isn’t made of.
She is on her knees in the desert,
not phased by where her water will come from,
a dusty-faced worshipper unafraid to be alone
because she knows she is never alone.
She is the tangled mane of a wild horse running to a quiet place
She is thunder feet of elephant claiming the land she walks on
She is tiger in the face of a lie that tries to steal her peace
She is brave
and they do not question her intuition – home of the Spirit,
rocking chair of the uncertain,
oven of the good word.
She’s the prayer that makes dark things look for a hiding place.
She is believer of supernatural,
Stardust and fabric of the sky,
The morning of forgiveness,
Offerer of everything,
Templed-body home builder,
Bride of the thick presence,
Courier of life,
Firm-footed friend of grace,
A heart bowed in respect,
She is the strong and delicate hands on a loom,
threading legacy for daughters and
granddaughters who will be written into the book of life
as cage breakers,
earth tilling ambassadors of heaven,
faithful guardians of this city.
She is a lady of honor.
She is a mother of the future,
a sister of the present,
and if you’re wondering
where to find such a unicorn of a woman
look around, my love,
trust the time you chose to live with magic in your blood
which means SHE
is the woman YOU
were always meant to become.
// Danielle Bennett //
Does this move you as much as it moves me? 

Apricot Almond Clafoutis

June 11, 2016

The mornings have been misty and cool here in Santa Barbara, but the Farmer's Market bounty assures us that summer is just a skip away. We found these golden apricots at the market this morning, and I knew a Clafoutis was in our future. It takes 10 minutes to assemble, 40 minutes to bake, and seconds to consume. :) 

Apricot Almond Clafoutis

5-7 Ripe Apricots, halved and pitted
2 Eggs
3/4 cup Milk of choice (I used Almond Milk)
1/4 cup Flour
1/3 cup Sugar, plus more for the pan
1 tsp Almond Extract
Powdered Sugar

Preheat oven to 375.

Grease an 8" round or oval dish with butter, and sprinkle with sugar.

Place pitted apricots in dish.

Whisk together eggs, flour, sugar, milk, almond extract until smooth. Pour over apricots and bake between 40-45 minutes. It will look deliciously puffed up and golden brown.

Sprinkle with powdered sugar and serve warm.


ONE YEAR: A Letter to My Daughter

April 19, 2016

To My Penny,

We are sitting on the couch next each other, and the sun coming through the gauzy curtains, bathing us in warm morning light. We are playing. I notice that there is a smudge of avocado behind your ear, left over from a now-routinely gymnastic breakfast experience.

As I sit here, I want to take you all in.

Your soft little ears, fuzzy with tiny golden hairs. Your crazy hair, which, just like you, definitely has a mind of its own. Your skin is so soft it's like silk.

You have an adorably toothy grin. Your grin brings me back my childhood, and I remember how I was embarrassed of my two front teeth. I'm instantly flooded with a fierce desire that you will never feel pain, embarrassment, or discomfort, over your teeth, or anything at all. Don't worry, I know this is silly.

Your hands are so expressive, having mastered the basics of baby sign language, and you tell me when you want something, and when you're done with something. You let me know when you want milk, and you let me know that you definitely know where your nose is. You are a marvel.

You have blue eyes with golden sunburst centers, that are alive and bright. They are the eyes of your grandmother, who I wish more than anything was here to see you grow. But we've talked about her, remember? She lives in your heart, and you live in hers. Someday you will live in the same place again!

Your little legs are so strong, and it occurs to me that they always have been. As soon as your muscles allowed it in the womb, your kicks let me know that you were there. Now your little legs carry you around the house, sometimes with mommy or daddy helping you walk, sometimes on your own, getting closer and closer to that next stage of independence.

You are growing so big my darling girl.

It has been nearly one year with you on the outside of me, and I am in awe.

Because you've already done so much. You have transformed a pair of two best friends into parents, and you have turned our home into the most beautiful classroom. You have brought countless minutes, hours, days of joys and challenges, and you continue to reveal who you are to us every day.

Thank you, my Penny. You have brought me such great understanding of what it must have been like for my own mother.

You have given me the gift of motherhood, my first and most darling daughter. You have transformed me, in ways I am still trying to understand.

So here is to many more years of laughter, growth, exploration, and getting to know each other even better.

I love you,
Your Mama

Hello New Year!

January 7, 2016

Over the course of the past seven months I have started and abandoned 5 blog posts. Each of them similar in their content..."wow, it's been awhile" or "life is so full!" or "Penny is doing this new thing and it's amazing!" 

(On a related note, I'm sending out our Christmas Cards today! Yep. That's me.) 

Hello, blog. Hello, friends. It has been awhile! And life is so full! And Penny just started crawling! 

New year, new life. That's really how it feels. I am a new person, and my life would be unrecognizable to last January Jessica. What hits me first is the gratitude for where the past year has taken us - welcoming Penelope; first weird, then good career changes; new friends and new family - it has been a whirlwind of change. 

Penelope is a joy. She has changed us with her spirit, her voice, her sideways glances, her laugh - she is a marvel. And she just started crawling! (And consequently realized that our home is apparently a death trap. Baby proofing in progress.) I have never been more simultaneously challenged and filled with love in my life. 

Matthew and I are navigating what it means to parent together, something that has been a huge blessing. He is such an incredible father, I wish you all could see what I see on a daily basis. Picture lots of music-making, story-reading, joke-telling, tickling and cuddling, and a man who is truly present with his daughter. It is an absolute joy to witness. 

I am hoping to write more this year - at least post some of the thousands of photos I've been taking - but we'll see how it goes. (If you want to see what we're up to, check out my Instagram feed!) 

Wishing you all a brave, beautiful, creative, life-filled 2016!

One Month Old | Photo Explosion

May 20, 2015

My sweet little lady turned ONE month old yesterday, which just astounds me. I had plans to write this post then, but never quite made it to my computer. No complaints here, I had a darling baby in my arms most of the time. :)

She is filled with spirit, and I really could not be more in love with her. Here are some photos (camera + iPhone) from our first month with Penny! (Warning, there are about a million - this is my attempt to NOT break Instagram...)

Click through for more sweetness... <3

Penelope Katharine Roy | A Love Story

April 29, 2015

Right now I'm sitting on the couch, laptop out, mug of tea steaming beside me, listening to the sounds of three sleeping beings: our black lab Numi, with his deep sighs and occasional snores; my husband Matthew, who has a shirt covering his eyes to block out the light, with his arms closed around the newest addition, Penelope. Penelope's breath comes softly, with little whimpers and moans, her sweet little mouth puckered like the cutest duck you've ever seen. These three are my whole heart, put into physical form outside of my body. It is the loveliest and most terrifying thing.

When thinking about putting the past week into words, especially written words, and not just the middle of the night whispers between Matthew and I - "oh my God, can you even believe this, I know, look at her, this is crazy, my heart is exploding" - I can't help but cry. Not sobs, not sad, not overwhelmed, just simply tears of awe when I consider what our family has experienced. When I was pregnant (wow, that feels weird to say...), I hungrily read as many positive, low-medical intervention birth stories I could get my hands on. Throughout my pregnancy I was encouraged in our birth classes to visualize the birth that I wanted to experience. Over and over I would read birth stories, and picture Matthew and I going through the motions and experiencing labor and birth as a positive, empowering marathon of mental and physical strength. And let me just skip to the end right now - that is exactly what we experienced. I feel so incredibly fortunate to have had the experience that I had hoped and prayed for over the course of my pregnancy. It did not go exactly to plan, but wow, was it good.

Side note: each woman, labor, birth, and baby are different and should be given a medal of honor no matter how, when, where the process happens. There is so much judgement over the choices a woman/family makes with regards to this incredible event, and I hope that as I tell my story you know that I tell it authentically, with no judgement of experiences different than mine. Also I'm going to talk about lady parts, very unglamorous aspects of labor, and just in general try to keep it real. If that scares you, go onto Pinterest and search for baby ducks running. You'll feel better. 

As we approached 40 weeks, I was ready to have our baby girl. It's incredible how your body becomes this unrecognizable thing at that point - you stand in front of the mirror and swear that there is NO MORE ROOM and if the baby keeps rolling and kicking your belly just might pop. At my 40 week appointment, I was 2 cm dilated and 80% effaced. My midwife assured me that my body was doing it's thing, and that the baby could come anytime. I told her that I was getting really uncomfortable and cranky, and asked if there was anything I could do to coax our girl to come out. Short answer: NO. Long answer: all the classics, eat spicy food, have sex, go for a walk, do squats, etc. could help the process along.

Penelope was born at 41 weeks, 1 day. And let me just say - that last week before birth a new side of myself emerged. Well maybe not totally new, but a side that doesn't present itself too often. I just closed up shop. I didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to answer my phone, didn't want to go out. Looking back, perhaps it was my body's way of storing up energy in preparation for labor, but I felt miserable. I couldn't handle everyone asking about when the baby was coming, couldn't handle that my reality was all about waiting to run a huge marathon race...but we weren't sure when the race was going to happen...and when it did come, we weren't sure how long or painful it was going to be. Sorry if that sounds dramatic or self pitying, but that's how it was. Matthew was incredibly supportive and positive during this time, and I can honestly say that it was because of his daily encouragement that I got through that last week with some semblance of sanity.

The day before Penelope was born we were required to have a stress test with the local perinatologist, to ensure that she was not under any additional stress and happy to still be baking in my oven. It was not a great visit. The nurse tried to convince me that I was endangering myself and the baby by not inducing, despite all the signs to the contrary: I was healthy, the baby was perfect. I could say many more things about this visit, and this nurse in particular, but I won't vent here. If you're giving birth in Santa Barbara you will visit their office at some point - call me and I will give you the full story.

We left the appointment feeling unnerved. I felt in my gut that things were fine, and that the best thing to do was to let the baby come when she was ready. I called my doula and she offered great support and advice (Ronda Perea - highly recommend). I emailed our birth class teacher (Tracy Shmidt - highly recommend) and they both said the same thing: my body was doing what it was supposed to, try to relax, enjoy these last few days. I didn't need to force my body to go into labor, that my body and baby would kick into action at the right time.

At 11:30pm that night my water broke. I've been sleeping with a huge pregnancy pillow called the Snoogle (for real, that's what it's called) between my knees, and in it's final act of glorious valor, it took the full brunt of this very messy event. It really does feel like you've peed your pants. Like you've returned to infancy and you're just letting it all go. I stood up and indeed, amniotic fluid was dripping down my legs. Matthew sat up with a start and I said "honey, I think my water broke..."

I texted Ronda and tried to go back to sleep. (UM YEAH RIGHT.) I laid there thinking a million things...I couldn't believe it was finally time. I couldn't believe our amazing luck - our midwife delivers babies in the hospital one day a week, and that day is Tuesday. There we were, on the eve before Tuesday, with very real signs that our baby would be born very soon. Eventually I fell into a weird sleep, occasionally waking to contractions.

The next morning I was surprised to feel...relatively nothing. While I know that the reality of labor is definitely not like movies and sitcoms tell us it is, I expected to feel something more than just some mild cramps. I called our doula and she suggested we take it to the next level: castor oil. Before I continue, I know that castor oil is not for everyone and that some people have had terrible experiences with it. This was not the case with me. I trust my doula completely, and was happy to be armed with a tool to help my body along. I mixed castor oil with orange juice and gulped it down. I did this three times over the course of three hours, between 9:30am - 12:30pm. Matthew filmed me on his phone, both of us laughing at the absurdity of what we were doing.

At 12:30pm, I still felt only mildly crampy, but tired. I think I was tired out from over-congratulating myself for being such a badass with the castor oil. Why do people complain about this so much? It wasn't that bad! I would take more if Ronda would let me! Matthew (rightly) made fun of me for having such bravado.

We both tried to nap, thinking we would be thrown into labor at any moment. At around 4:00pm I woke up with stronger contractions, though nothing regular. Progress! You know you're still in early labor when you're stoked about stronger contractions...but over the course of the next few hours they got even stronger and closer together. Matthew started timing them on his phone, and I started deeply moaning with each wave. I moved from my side, to being hunched over a pile of pillows, to leaning against the wall...nothing made them go away or less painful. Progress!

At 6:00pm we called Ronda, and decided to head into the hospital around 7:00pm. Jess Clayton, our other doula, came to the house to be with us and help us get to the hospital. Both Ronda and Jess have been blessed with the softest, most comforting voices I've ever heard. When Jess arrived she talked me through the contractions, rubbing my back, while Matthew packed up our final things into the car. At this point I knew things were getting real: for one, I was no longer pleased that the contractions were so intense. And two, we were literally driving to the hospital - IT WAS TIME.

Matthew remembers this drive to the hospital as a singular and bizarre event - his wife, on all fours on the backseat, leaning over, moaning loudly; our doula Jess sitting in the front, turned around, trying to apply counter pressure to my hips and massaging my back through each contraction. I remember making a few jokes about if we got pulled over for not wearing our seat belts, and we all still managed to laugh and talk in between contractions. We arrived at the hospital and slowly made our way to check in. I had to stop a few times to lean against a wall, or hang on Matthew's shoulders to get through the pain. Ronda and Jess carried our bags, Matthew checked us in, and I maintained a pretty solid resting bitch face to avoid having to answer any questions. I wasn't mean or rude to anyone (one of my major goals for the whole birthing process: DO NOT BE A BITCH, no matter how much pain you're in) but I knew that I needed to focus all my energy on walking and getting through each contraction.

We finally got to our room, and I changed into a hospital gown and met our labor and delivery nurse Michelle. I wish all of you could meet Michelle. I'm convinced that God sent her to work at Cottage Hospital to make laboring women feel human. She was incredibly supportive, funny, and a great encouragement to both Matthew and I.

Now is when things get fuzzy...I was intentional about not looking at any clocks, but afterwards was told that once we got settled into our room it was about 8:30pm. I moved all around the room - hanging from the end of the bed, sitting on a birth ball, sitting in the birthing tub, hugging Matthew. Our midwife came by to check in and I remember being a little annoyed that she wasn't concerned at how much pain I was in. Come on lady, this is hurting REALLY BAD why aren't you concerned?! Looking back, this marks the beginning of my time in Transition. I remember saying over and over "okay, you guys, guys, I mean guys, I'm not sure I can do this" which was met with the calm and reassuring voice of Ronda "Jess, but you ARE doing it!"

This is when things started to move, fast. I was sailing through transition, throwing up, shaking uncontrollably, and telling anyone who would listen that you know, I really wasn't sure that I could do it. I was feeling such incredible pressure in my lower back, like I hadn't pooped in about 3 months. This is the harsh reality of that final stage - they keep telling you that your baby is coming, but really, you just feel like you're going to be the subject of one of those horrifyingly embarrassing bathroom-related accident stories. We had a relaxation playlist going, and I remember Joni Mitchell coming on and Michelle saying how much she loved her. (Have I mentioned how much I love Michelle? And Joni Mitchell? )

Ronda suggested that with each contraction, I gently start pushing, just to see if it felt right. Let me just make one thing clear: pushing a watermelon out of your vagina will never feel right. NEVER. But I got her point, and started pushing. This really was the moment of utmost surrender. I felt backed up against a wall of sheer pressure and pain, and my only true option was to let go, and lean into that pain. And you know, I get why women get epidurals and pain meds and laughing gas and whatever else they are offering these days - I totally get it. I knew that I wanted to try a low-medical intervention birth, and had told everyone not to offer me pain meds and that if I truly wanted them, I would ask for them.

Things were progressing faster than everyone anticipated, and nurses were running around getting everything set up. Our midwife was called to come ASAP, that this baby was coming! I got halfway onto the bed, and pushed through a contraction. Apparently my amniotic sack had resealed, because with that push came the rest of my water breaking. They noticed right away that there was meconium present (the first, tarry baby poop) and told me that contrary to my wish that the baby be placed directly on my chest, they would need to clean her up first.

And now the pushing, oh my, the pushing phase of labor. One of my most vivid memories of this time was screaming from a place I didn't know existed. If you asked me to imitate that scream now, I couldn't do it. And I can't even fully describe it - it was the most primal, raw experience of my life. Matthew was crying, and kept whispering into my left ear - "babe, I can see her head, I can see her head! You can do this, you are amazing, you are so strong..." No one yelled at me to push, no one made me feel pressure about how long it was going to take me, all I heard was encouragement, support, love, and cheering.

I rested in between contractions, with my eyes closed, but still felt her progressing on her own. Apparently, she was kicking her little legs, helping to push herself out. Our midwife was amazed - "just keep helping her along, Jess! She really wants to meet you!"

I pushed for 5 contractions - 14 minutes - and she was out. I tore slightly, so they stitched me up while she was checked and deemed perfect. Matthew ripped off his shirt and had skin-on-skin contact and I heard her first cries.

Penelope Katharine Roy was born at 11:53pm on Tuesday, April 21, 2015.

She was 7 lbs, 15 ounces, 19.5" long. (And she had a 13" head. HOLY LORD.)

I labored for 8 hours, pushed for 14 minutes, and managed to do it without any unnecessary medical interventions. I am not saying this to boast, I am saying this because it is absolutely possible. The birthing team we had was positive, supportive, safe, and absolutely incredible at their jobs. I can't fully express the immense gratitude I feel for my experience. I can't believe that it went as well as it did, and that I actually survived the event. I am so proud of myself, of Matthew, and of Penelope for all of us getting through birth so well.

So now we're home, and adjusting to all that comes with introducing an infant to daily life. I'm basking in the glow of the wildest, most uncontrollable love I've ever felt, and sleeping as much as possible. To all of you who have dropped off food, sent messages, gifts, your love from afar - we thank you. You are all part of our team, and for that we are incredibly thankful.

Waiting | A Note to My Sweet Girl

April 7, 2015

To my sweet girl,

I keep visualizing that moment when you will be placed into my arms. Over and over. It's really the only thing that is getting me through these last days of waiting, waiting, waiting. They say that you'll come when you're ready, but I am so anxious to meet you! I feel like I'm wandering around, trying to fill my time with projects and tasks, but your mama can only organize your sweet little clothes and diapers so many times.

Maybe I'll vacuum again. 

And it's hard to make freezer meals, as everyone has told me I should, because your mama is always hungry...and just wants to eat everything before it hits the freezer. Yeah.

Are you comfortable in there? It seems to me like you've reached capacity, but they tell me that my body won't grow a baby that it can't carry. I love feeling you move, roll, squirm, kick, dance, and oh my, those baby hiccups...holy cuteness. But baby girl, it would be great if you came out soon.

Your daddy is excited too! Every day he sings you your special songs, and tells you how much he loves you - can you hear him?

Even Numi can tell you're on your way...he follows me around the house, like he knows you're in there and can't wait to lick your face.

Keep growing strong, little one. We love you so much!

Your Mama

P.S. Can you come soon?



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