What's for dessert?

When I was a little girl, I asked for an ice cream maker for Christmas. I'm certain that I intended a Barbie or easy bake oven type of ice cream maker. However, my mother, being the practical meets "go big or go home "type bought me a real one from the hardware store. This summer while cleaning out her basement, she found it and passed it on to the basement of it's rightful owner.

When cleaning out our basement to prepare for Baby 2, Brian found it, not knowing it was down there. He brought it up and said that it would be a fun Christmas break project to make ice cream....which really means that he just wants to eat it.

Heck....I wanted to eat it too. Mention anything about ice cream and Quinn jumps right on board.

I unpacked the pieces and found all the right parts. This was no surprise because Grandma is not only the practical meets "go big or go home," but she is also organized to a crazy level and saves everything that might be important some day. In addition to all the right parts, I found a recipe book/owners manual, warrantee information and the original recipt from Kruger's True Value for the bargain price of $22.99....from 1993.

After selecting a recipe (we stuck with a simple vanilla for our first attempt) and gathering the right ingredients, Quinn and I set to work. Every ice cream maker needs a 3 year old side kick.

Not for the dieter....milk, half and half, whipping cream, sugar and vanilla.....

Some ice and rock salt.....

40 minutes later.....soft serve.

Nap time in the deep freeze...(the ice cream...not Quinn)

Patience until after dinner...

Best ice cream ever...

Yes...I am sure there is only one in there.

Let me start by saying...

Yes, I am pregnant.

Yes, I am hormonal.

Yes, I am a little psychotic.

Yes, I am bigger than I was with Quinn at this time.

Yes, I am a woman with feelings....although slightly elevated feelings.

To friends and strangers alike, I ask this question...

If you wouldn't say it to a woman who is not pregnant, why would it be ok to stay it to one who is? Why do the rules change? Why is it suddenly socially acceptable for everyone and their brother, friend or stranger, to comment on what is happening with my body?

At 16 weeks, I recieved my first comment. Here I am at almost 34 weeks, still recieving multiple comments a day. It's getting very old. A girl can only politely smile and laugh so many times, while trying to hide the smart remarks running through her head, and mask the hurt she feels.

"Are you sure there's only one in there?" Yes, I am sure there is only one baby in there. Just ask Dr. Kaldas....he'll tell you. When you say this to me, while I know you are trying to be cute and funny, it really says, "wow, you're ENORMOUS." And that's not something any woman, pregnant or not, wants to hear.

"You look like you are ready to pop!" No, I am not ready to "pop." When you say this to me, while I know you are trying to be cute and funny, it really says, "wow, you're ENORMOUS." And that's not something any woman, pregnant or not, wants to hear.

To my fellow teacher who said at 29 weeks, "well you look like you're ready to have that baby any day now?" "No, actually I have 11 weeks left." "Oh well, I had a baby 11 weeks early."

Really? Because every mother wants her baby to be born dangerously early....I don't think so.

Today, two different women at two different quilt shops told me that I wasn't going to make it 2 more weeks. Again....because every mother wants her baby born early. I really appreciated it when one of them called a friend over to check out the size of my belly, to get her bets on how much longer I would make it.

To the random grandpa at the school concert whose belly was bigger than mine...oh yeah...when is your baby due? OH...you mean you're not expecting?

"When are you due?" "February 2." Followed by a horrified look and a low moan....Yes I do have a long way yet to go....no there is nothing wrong with me....no I do not have a horn growing out of my forehead...

You must be so uncomfortable....actually I feel totally normal.

I can not leave the house without someone thinking that it is their business to comment on my pregnancy. While I know that people are not trying to be hurtful, it's difficult not to be bothered when the comments come so frequently.

I have been blessed with a body that very easily handles pregnancy. I don't throw up or have aversions to smells or food. I am not rediculously tired. I have no swelling, high blood pressure, difficulty breathing or anything else. I am able to work a full day at school and still come home and be a human being. The weight I have gained has been fairly well contained to my belly. I am fortunate that I haven't gotten huge all over. While I like to say that I am 5 ' 3", I am really 5'2" with a short torso. Where else is this baby going to go but out? I am able to exercise and other than my enormous belly and waking several times a night to use the bathroom, I feel completely normal.

"They aren't calling you fat, they are just commenting on your belly."

It is difficult to separate the two, because attached to this belly is a women, who has for most of her life been a bigger girl. The big girl in dance class, the big girl in the group of friends. Not obsese, but the size 12 among the 4's. Who, like most women, wonders deep inside if she is pretty enough, thin enough, smart enough? Who is reminded daily of the size of her growing belly when she ties her shoes, cuts her toe nails, leans over the sink doing dishes instead of standing up right, who no longer has much room left in her lap for her toddler to snuggle. A woman, who wonders what her body will be like when baby 2 comes out? How loose will my stretch marked skin hang? Will I be able to lose this weight? Will I ever be pretty enough, smart enough, thin enough?

Now matter which cute and funny way you choose to camoflauge what you are really saying, please don't tell me that I'm enormous.  I already know. When you ask me if I'm ready to pop, or if I am sure there is only one baby in there...you only emphasis and remind the fears I had since middle school. You say to me....you're not thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough, appreciated, and valued. Your belly is so big, there must be something wrong with you.

All the while, I will smile and try to shake off which ever comment was made. I will remind myself that people think they are trying to be cute and funny not realizing that maybe it's more hurtful than funny.

I will gladly endure these last 6 of forty weeks, no matter how huge I get, I will welcome our baby knowing that it was all worth it....I will be rewarded with a wonderful husband and two beautiful children who will never care if my purple marked skin hangs off me, never to return to it's original smooth and tight surface. I was chosen to be the mother of this child, and for that, I'll gladly take a second round of stretch marks, sleepless nights, "cute and funny" comments from friends and strangers, saggier old lady boobs after I have finished nursing a second child. I will know that if I return to my size 10 self and even if I don't, despite what people say to me, I am smart enough, pretty enough, thin enough, talented enough, appreciated and valued.

Even if you really want to tell me how huge I am, filter your thoughts, and instead say, Congratulations!

I'm so happy for you!
You look beautiful!
I'll come over and clean your bathroom/vaccuum/do the dishes!
What kind of meal can I bring you when the baby is born?
I'll watch the kids so you can take a shower in peace.



Manger or meat market...

Take a close look at the stable....it seems as though there has been some funny business going on....

Cheerleaders

One Sunday afternoon, while an NFL football game was on TV, a scene of cheerleaders flashed across the screen.

Quinn: Mom are they naked?

Mom: Well, sort of.

Going hunting

As always, Quinn was wearing his badger football pants. I just just come home from school as he ran though the kitchen in this get up....footbal pants, snow boots, and dad's old cell phone. He boldly proclaimed that he was going hunting and was looking for deer.

Shortly after this announcement, he ran the circle of our house over and over shouting, "Yes!!! Yes!!! Yes!!!" Then ran to the living room on his cell phone to "call" Grandpa Gutzman to tell him about his deer. Certainly, he must have heard dad and grandpa have several deer conversations.

Happy Birthday Quinn

On December 4th, we celebrate Quinn's 3rd birthday. It has been a very fast and wonderful 3 years. Although, I don't remember what life was life before him. It seems like we have had him with us for ever. He is a blessing is every way. As much as we try to teach him, he is teaching us.
Grandma Golden made a special cake with Quinn's two favorite guys (aside from bear and bunny), Lightning McQueen and Mader.

We told him that everyone was coming over at dinner time, a little lie in this case hoping to lead to a good nap. Had we told him the truth (that the party started at 3:30...right after nap), his nap would have been just a blink. He woke up to find everyone at the house. His only response was, "can I have my party now?" While a little bit of a misnomer....Quinn, buddy, the party is all the people who are here to see you....while by his definition....it really meant, "can I have a cupcake now?" After a good dinner....a natural fare for a kids birthday party...sloppy Joes....a well deserved cupcake and a scoop of New York Vanilla. Dad shopped all week to find just the right present. We saved it for last. When you realized what it was, you ripped it right of out the box...who cares about opening the box. It's all about the Badger football helmet.

Everyday since the party, you have worn the helmet and pants (you're not too into the jersey).

Jesus, you're my superhero

There is a song that the preschoolers at our church sing.

Jesus, you're my superhero, you're my star, you're my best friend

The children's ministry did a series called superheros. I couldn't really tell you what it was teaching. I only know that they asked Brian to dress up as Spiderman for the final weekend. It was a good thing he said no because apparently the suit was a little on the short side.

In the afternoon of the final Sunday, I got a call from a friend of ours who is one of the lead teachers for Quinn's Sunday school class. She called to tell me that Quinn had royally freaked out when Spiderman came into the classroom. I chuckled reassuring her that I already knew that Quinn was terrified of life size mascots and that it was no big deal. She followed up by saying the Quinn wasn't the only one to lost it....her own son had panicked as well....and it was his dad who was in the suit.

Despite the fear of Spiderman, Quinn was all too happy to wear his superhero mask that he made.

Strange silence

The day after Thanksgiving, we put up our Christmas decorations. Quinn played inside the tree box (yes, we have a fake one...yes, I know it's lame...but it's paid for and I don't have to remember to water it) while I set it up and put the lights on.

While he napped, I decorated it and set up the nativity scene.

After he woke up, I heard, "mom, can I wake up now?" just as I do everytime he wakes up.

Only instead of running down the stairs and coming to find me for sunggles and a snack, I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and then silence. I peaked around the corning from the kitchen into the living room and this is what I found.

Quinn always has something to say. But just as it should for all of us, the miracle in the manger left him speechless.

Happy Thanksgiving!

This year for Thanksgiving I made my 3rd attempt at butterhorn rolls. These rolls are not just bread for dinner. What they represent is so much more. These rolls represent a community of women trying to master the art of making butterhorns just like Grandma Gunvalson. For some reason, hers always seemed light and airy. Although my mother swears that there were batches that didn't raise that Grandma would throw out and start over....I don't know that I believe her. Butterhorns in my memory were the most coveted part of a holiday meal at Grandma Gunvalsons. They were the kind that you'd steal (one or seven) when passing by the kitchen and shove it into your mouth as fast as possible to rid yourself of the evidence.

These famous rolls are finicky. The temperature of the house has to be just right for the dough to rise, just gentle enough kneeding so not to kill the yeast, and perfect timing in the oven to get just the right shade of gold. One wrong move and you'll find yourself with dozens of rolls made of lead.

Many women have tried and given up on this seemingly impossible mission of recreating Grandma's rolls. To this day, anyone who knew her will tell you what a marvel she was in the kitchen. This may become my new holiday obsession. Last year's attempt was "close" in my dad's words. Coming from him, that's a good judge. This years attempt was even closer. Mom gave them the Gunvalson approval. While maybe not quite be to Grandma Gunvalson's untouchable standards, definitely a step in the right direction.

Beyond the memory of the perfect rolls, butterhorns represent a certain presence. Grandma's holiday meals were of the highest class, with fine china and crystal, cloth napkins and perfect manners. She'd be working, finishing all the details, while never messing up her fancy dress, matching jewelry, lipstick and shoes or breaking a sweat. I don't remember the panic to get all the sides off the stove or out of the oven at the same time. It always just seemed flawless and easy.

While it has been many, many years since experiencing a traditional Gunvalson Thanksgiving or Christmas, it is a cherished part of my life. One that I hope to recreate for my family, not for the presents, but for the atmosphere of love and affection. The atmosphere that this time together is special, all in the details of a well prepared and heartfelt meal together, the attention to detail of a beautifully presented dinner and a lovely decorated home. The sense that all are welcome and that there's always room for another guest.

In my head, I can see the flicker of a candle through a crystal goblet, smell the dinner just about to be served and the attention to every tiny detail....more than anything whatever "can't come up with the words" that feels like love. These rolls represent my grandma's ladylike grace and poise and her obsession with the fine details that make anyone who knew her be made to feel special.

There's somebody in there....

Here we are at 28 weeks. Still feeling very normal....minus the huge part.

Just for comparison....here's 28 weeks with Quinn. There is definitely more belly this time around. However, it seems to be the same shape and location. Any bets on what this baby is?

Fall rewind

We ventured again this year to the pumpkin patch.

Slightly taller for Quinn and slightly rounder for me....

You can't tell but this is a fire truck....like all good firefights...Quinn always has time to give his momma a kiss.

Carving the fruits of our labor.

Let's make it official....

While I don't have any good pictures to share (I'll have to steal some from my siblings),

we have a very important message to share!

This weekend we welcomed some one very special into our family.....This person has been around for over ten years and became part of our family long ago, but now it's official. This weekend Dad and Sue got married!

Thank you Sue for being so good for Dad and for being such a wonderful addition to our family. You have always treated all of us with warmth, love, generosity and respect.

Most people who know about how our family works think that we are quite unusual, but I can't imagine having it any other way.

Happy Halloween!

I didn't actually go Trick Or Treating this year. I helped mom hand out candy. At first, I parked myself right at the front door. I'd let mom know that someone was coming and then she'd come and open the door. The candy part was my job. I was very generous. We ran out of candy about an hour and a half into the event.

I was very excited to watch for people until someone scary showed up...then I slowly backed down the hall and into the kitchen where mom was making dinner. I'm a smart guy so from then on, I waited near the kitchen table and watched the door from there. Mom was pretty nice and let me stay in the kitchen whenever anyone scary came. I was not into those guys. Spiderman and princesses are more my type.

Silly boys

What do you get when these three get together.....SILLY!!!!!

Daddy's first deer

Daddy has been on the hunt for a few years now. This was his year. He finally got his first deer. When in the stand, he thought it was just a "fork," he later found that it was an 8 pointer. Not bad for the first one. We were all do proud of him....especially Grandpa Gutzman.

When I first saw the deer, I asked to pet him. I said, "I love him so much." I think mom, dad, Grandpa and Grandma thought I was talking about the deer, but I was really talking about dad.

My Daddy the artist

King of the mountain

Daddy and I dug out all the lava rock from the landscaping around the house and piled it up in the driveway to be removed. Really it was just me, Dad mostly played with his trucks. It took us several days, lots of sweat and trips with a wheel barrow, but it finally got done. Needless to say it was A LOT of rock. Now on to some new plants and ground cover in the spring.

Like father like son

Quinn would play ball all day long....not exaggerating...Everything is baseball. He found an old, torn batting glove of Brian's and sports it all the time. Now that the weather is getting chilly, the living room has become his "field." He really believes it too. Brian was vaccuuming and Quinn said, "Dad, why are you vaccuuming my field." Lately, he has been saying that he teaches baseball to the big boys. I can only assuming he means the Kimberly Baseball team. Not so sure how coach feels about that.

Mr. and Mrs. Grosfeld

On October 1st, we welcomed the final man into the Six Sexy Singing Soprano family. For the last 11 years, these five women have been my best friends. While some people have come into my life and gone, I am confident that these six will remain. This weekend we celebrated with Sarah and Matt as they became one.

Missing two...the bride and the maid of honor.

(some of) the men.

Comparing bumps....just 2.5 weeks away from each other. #4 for Tereas and #2 for me.

Finally a moment with the bride.
And then there were twelve.