The kitchen was quiet... except for the soft sound of the freezer (and occasional giggles from my brothers and I). My Mom, with gentle focus, unwraps the vanilla ice cream sandwiches like they were some pieces of treasure.

I reach for the whipping cream to hand to my Mom, as my brothers debate on who gets to drizzle the caramel first.

My Dad watched from the doorway, grinning like he always did when this dessert was in the making!

The first layer came together in laughter... a soft bed of ice cream sandwiches and whipping cream, with caramel and a splash of hot fudge.

"Let's freeze it" my Mom said with a playful tone, but with certainty. The rule is: one hour for joy to settle.

Vanilla ice cream sandwiches stacked with care...

... topped with whipped cream, caramel threads, hot fudge drippings, and a crunch of walnuts!

Into the freezer it went. This time around, for hours! As if time itself needed to steep in sweetness.

Evenings unfolded around that cake. We all had spoons on hand as my Mom sliced us a cake each. The walnuts whispered of Dad's rough hands and gentle patience. And the cool vanilla? That was Mom- always steadfast, always soothing, always in the center.