Roots of Knowledge

Last week, I had the chance to visit Holdman Studios at Thanksgiving Point, where my friend DawnRay Ammon works. If you're ever near there, I highly recommend a visit: The glass they work there is so gorgeous!

Holdman is a glassworking studio that provides the stained glass for many of the world's LDS temples, as well as for other religions. I wasn't allowed to take pictures of the temple glass, but it was amazing to see it all come together, from sketches to individual pieces of glass, to the finished windows.

Holdman is working on a huge project for Utah Valley University right now called Roots of Knowledge. It's a truly epic project that promises to be a major attraction in the UVU library.

I did get to take pictures of the Roots of Knowledge project. This is one of the windows currently being assembled:

DawnRay sent me more pictures, too. This sequence shows the assembly of the Adam and Eve window:

What I didn't know (but should have guessed) is that the detail in the glass is painted onto the individual pieces. They're still assembled like puzzle pieces, but the shading on the rocks and the faces and other detail on Adam and Eve is accomplished by painting the glass before refiring it. Several layers are usually needed to get all the right colors, and they have to be done in a specific order, since some colors are more durable than others, and will survive the repeated firing while still maintaining their hues.

The point of the Roots of Knowledge project is to tell the Story of Man from the creation of the world. This will be the first time it is told with art glass, and Holdman Studios is doing an amazing job.



Whether you're a storyteller in search of plot bunnies, a lover of stained glass, or just someone who loves learning stuff, this series of windows will be amazing. Please consider donating to help bring the project to life.

What I've Been Doing Instead of Writing

I'm planning to get better at blogging. Soon. I AM! If nothing else, I have hours of notes from writer's conferences to share, and heaven knows I need to have some sort of accountability to get back to writing.

Lately, though, other things have been more important (I know, I know, incredible but true). The end of school was... time consuming. We made it, and everyone is advancing to the next grade, but it was touch-and-go. One young son was one retake away from summer school. (He utterly aced the retake, by the way, proving he's smart enough, if we can find a way to motivate him to study. Money will be involved next year.)

To relax from the frenzy of the end of the school year, I took a weekend to attend a different kind of conference. Have you noticed there're seminars to teach you about every major aspect of life? I've learned about the law and about writing that way, so it was just natural that I'd want to learn about dating that way, too. I attended a wonderful seminar in South Jordan a couple weekends ago taught by Alisa Snell, Utah's Dating Coach, working with The LDS Matchmaker. Just for fun, the same day, I attended a casting call for The Mormon Bachelorette. (I know, right? It gets worse.)

I applied to BE the Season 5 Mormon Bachelorette. I even made the required 2 minute video, which I'm only linking to here because, well, after so many months of zero posts, NO ONE is reading my blog anymore. So, here. I'd embed it, but, honestly, the video is unlisted. You can't find it without the link.

In all honesty, I auditioned because dating and this kind of personal publicity both scare me. It's not so much the inevitable rejection--I'm totally old hat with rejection. It's the requirement of opening myself up to the possibility of someone who WON'T reject me. Of being vulnerable in the dating scene. I'm not sure I'm good at that, but I want to be, because, well, that's what I need to succeed, right? Though it's unlikely I'll actually be chosen as the next Mormon Bachelorette, I'm hoping the application process will at least... tenderize me. In a good way.

Anyway, chosen or not, there's a chance my little video will be viewed by a virtual score of people, and those people might be coming here at some point, and I really just want to have something friendly to say to them. (Uh... hi!)

So... what important things pull YOU away from writing... or whatever else you SHOULD be doing?

Well, Hello, New Blog

Turns out, fixing my blog name problem was easier than I thought it would be. I just imported all my posts from the old blog (which need not be named) to this one!

I'm still needing to redesign this lovely new space with its cool new name, but I'm happy.

All the posts below here are from before. I'm still not sure if I'll be doing any weeding or if I'll just keep 'em all. Any advice?

The Soundtrack of My Name Change

Sorry for the blog silence. Real life around here has been... intense. Rather than explain, why don't you just enjoy the songs that have been running through my head?

This was my theme song for the week after New Year's. I learned it in college voice lessons to teach me how to belt. I've always thought it was beautiful, but never before was it at all applicable:


I fought this next one for a long time, but, well. Truth is truth, even when it's hard:


This is my favorite fight song--many of the lyrics are wishful thinking (at least at present), but quite a few of the story details are... accurate.


Of course, there are days (getting fewer and fewer) when this song applies best (well, with a gender reversal):


These next two are songs I've shared with my three sons. I can't express how grateful I am for how wonderful my children are. They are such a support to me right now.




And, of course, this all leads to the sad conclusion: I'm going through the Big D (and don't mean Dallas.) (That song only applies in title, but it's kind of catchy.)

I'm not quite sure what I'm doing with this blog yet--it has the wrong name on it. I'm reverting to my maiden name: Robin Ambrose--which I've been assured is an awesome writer name. Also, yes, I'm very VERY grateful that I haven't published yet. Thanks for asking. :)

Please stay posted. Real life is still taking all my spare time, but I'm taking steps to set up a new blog with the right name and will do whatever I need to do to make sure you all find your way over to the new one.

Please also know that I'm going to be fine. I've been overflowing with love over the last few weeks--I have so many friends both in real life and online who have gone out of their way to prop me up, let me rant, and give me concrete advice on how to come out on the other side of this in one piece. You guys all rock!

Having Some Fun

In the race, from far left right: SonC, SonB (in back), SonD, other folks

Yesterday, we attended a 4th of July breakfast/festival at a local park. SonC (bright green shirt) absolutely loved the sack races. Did them over and over for about an hour. Won almost every time.

Can you blame me for taking a break from blogging?

Hope everyone had a great 4th of July.

U is for University. Brigham Young University.

It looks cool until you try to hike it.

My parents attended BYU. My mom told stories of them finally allowing the women to wear pants. (I can imagine the letters to the editor from all the scandalized young men who now had positive proof that their female classmates had legs that went all the way up!)

My big sister Denise attended BYU. She fell victim to the RM's-and-freshmen-are-makin'-connections curse. (Ten points if you can name the artist and the song.) I was a year behind her, so by the time I started my own freshman year at BYU, I visited her in married student housing and she set me up with her husband's uncle (who was younger than he was, and a football player to boot). It didn't work out.

I was so sure I was going to BYU, I didn't even apply anywhere else. Back-up schools? I don't need no stinkin' back-up schools! My phenomenal ACT score (I got a 31. *breathes on fingernails* *polishes fingernails*) earned me an invite to Y-Weekend, where they recruit phenomenal high school students. Yeah, they could have saved their money and I still would have attended.

I started out thinking I would do psychology, but my Psych 111 class was deadly dull (though my roommate, Susan Kennedy [Jensen] was in that class with me... along with her future husband, so at least some good came out of it). I ended up declaring a Theatre Arts major because I needed a major... and then didn't ever find a decent reason to change it. Theatre Arts is fun, yo?

Theatre Arts majors hang out in the Harris Fine Arts Center (known as the H-Fack), which is the coolest building on campus.

Oh, the Theatre Slab. How I miss thee.

Not only did we have a big hung of rock to sit on / leave notes on / congregate on / etc... in the nice, echoey lobby, but we had three floors above ground and two below ground to get lost play in. There was a huge concert hall, a decent-sized theater, a theater-in-the-round, and an "experimental" theater just for us students to afflict our fledgling directing efforts on our classmates in.

So. Much. Fun. And, I now know several famous actors, including Erin Chambers. You're jealous, right?

Of course, after having that much fun in my undergrad, it was time to buckle down and do something serious for my post-grad. Again, I only applied to BYU's law school. Why waste the money to apply somewhere else? My oldest son was a week old when I went to the BYU-Law recruitment lunch. Hey, it was free food! A few months later, I started and, again, had a blast. It was a more studious, less gleeful kind of fun, but fun nonetheless.

Fortunately my law school took about half as long as my undergrad, and I topped out my higher education exactly a decade after my high school education. (I took an 18-month break in the middle, too.)

All in all, BYU rocks. I have so many fond memories of the campus, the classes, the teachers, and my classmates. I worked early morning custodial until I got pregnant and I speed-walked daily through the amazing, art-filled campus. I can't imagine attending anywhere else.

So where did you go to college?

Worry Got Me in the End, Dang It

So after last Friday's post, I'm sure you were all admiring my stalwart let's-wait-and-see attitude, right?

*Sigh*

I actually managed to keep that nice, healthy outlook until about Saturday afternoon. That's two days before we got the next blood test results. For those two days... well, it wasn't pretty. We had to open a new box of tissues. Hubby had to assume the role of optimist to keep me from going off the deep end. I was pretty much completely useless. Also, it turns out that I do NOT write when I'm super-stressed. I read mindless romances and watch mindless TV.

Saturday, hubby and I watched a marathon of InkMaster. All. Day. The whole season. (The best guy totally won.) Before Saturday, I had never watched a show that revolved around tattooing. I may never watch any more, but it was fascinating enough and mindless enough to get me through the day.

Sunday, our extended family had a special fast (that's going without food and water for two meals, then praying really hard). Because my father's family is still in England, this was international. My sister Heather reported that her seven-year-old participated in the fast voluntarily and without whining. That's phenomenal. We also benefited from the prayers and well-wishes of hundreds of friends--both online and IRL--and other family. Some who know my dear boy, some who haven't even met me.

We've been truly humbled by the outpouring of support.

Didn't stop me from being terrified as Sunday night rolled around, but it sure helped to know so many people were pulling for our little family.

So, after all that ado, I have good news: it's probably not cancer.

His white blood cell count is back up into low-normal range. They're testing for some viruses and they'll probably be doing regular blood tests to check into that white-blood-cell issue, but he went back to school Tuesday after a week and a half away. We're not out of the woods, and they haven't ruled much out at this point, but things are looking very, very hopeful.

Thank you to everyone who sent prayers our way. I can't say how grateful I am.

If you ever want to write a story with a stalwart, logic-first mother who thinks she can avoid worrying about the unknown where her children are concerned, feel free to interview me. :)

Perception

My six-year-old is sick. He's been running a fever for more than a week. Not counting the last time he was sick, a couple weeks ago. That fever is normally around 99 degrees, but last weekend, it was spiking to 106 degrees. Scary stuff.

Monday, my husband took him in for blood work and we discovered that his white blood cell count was frighteningly low. He has swollen lymph nodes. This COULD be an indication that he has lymphoma, but, at present, we know nothing. It could be an infection. It could be almost anything. It could be nothing.

Next Monday, we're taking him in for more blood work, so we can compare the blood work from last time. After that, we might be referred to a pediatric oncologist.

(By the way, who in their right mind would ever want to be a pediatric oncologist? I'm sure they're needed and I'm grateful they exist, but shoot. Talk about a buzz-kill profession.)

Anyway, my husband is a wreck. When he tells people about it, he leads off with "my son might have terminal lymphoma." Yeah. I wanted to hit him. Bad enough he's not eating, sleeping, or keeping things in perspective! Does he have to get everyone else thinking worst-case-scenario, too?

By contrast, I'm a cold-hearted you-know-what. I don't like worrying, so I don't do it. I don't use the c-word where the kids can hear me. I don't break down. Ever. I'm not being strong, I'm not toughing this out, and I'm not ignoring the facts. We don't have any facts. Until we do, all the hair-pulling, tear-jerking, heart-wrenching, and fist shaking in the world will accomplish exactly nothing.

Time enough for that sort of thing when we have some actual news, methinks.

Or not, since I fully expect this to be nothing.

So where does the glass sit for you when possibly horrible news is looming?

(Oh, and if you know us and you want more info, don't call my husband. I'll be updating my Facebook page when we have news, and I'll probably tweet and drop a line here, too.)

On Politics and Hypocrisy

No, I'm not going to turn my lovely writing blog into a political commentary blog. Politics generally interest me not at all, so you need not worry that I'll spend a lot of time on it. I just had to share this one little thought I had.

When I was in high school, I had an assignment to go to my library and read an article by Charles Krauthammer called In Praise of Mass Hypocrisy. If you have a subscription to TIME, you can read it yourself, here. I recommend it. As will become obvious, after reading it only once, it has stuck with me for... a long time.

The article starts by pointing out that, though the average American of the early '90's was (as the average American still is) rather, shall we say, lax in their personal standards of morality, they still demanded presidential candidates be upright, moral, and generally better than they expected themselves to be.

Then, just when I was getting all "My gosh, he's right! How can we expect the president to have better standards than the country he leads?" the article pointed out that this mass hypocrisy is A GOOD THING.

Huh? Isn't hypocrisy universally bad?

As I understood from Mr. Krauthammer's article, when the average American holds his elected officials to a higher standard, he is at least recognizing that a higher standard exists. And not only that it exists, but that it is obtainable, desirable, and a pretty good thing to have in someone who will be making decisions which will affect the world. It is an acknowledgement - subconscious, perhaps - that we, ourselves, as an average whole, aren't living up to the standards we admire. Which means that, maybe, most of us are still striving to improve. To attain that standard someday for ourselves.

The article closed by pointing out that the opposite would be much worse than a little hypocrisy. It gave me chills. What if we didn't have mass hypocrisy? What if we elected decision-makers who were every bit as flawed and imperfect and immoral and untruthful as the average American? What if we stopped expecting our leaders to live up to the higher standard? What if we stopped striving for it ourselves? What if we decided that the higher standard was simply unattainable, so it would be unfair and unrealistic to expect anyone to meet it?

This presidential race has me scared. Maybe I'm biased - I probably am - but when someone's past has been peppered with adultery, betrayed trust, failure to fulfill obligations in an ethical manner, and countless other indiscretions, it boggles my mind that so many Americans can hold that individual up as a great option for the leader of the free world.

Is mass hypocrisy dead?

I Need a Keeper

This week I took a trip to a conference. No, not a writer's conference. This one was related to my day-job. It wasn't half as fun, but I do gotta say, I'm more excited about my day-job now than I was before the conference. We do good work. Just sayin'.

The main thing I learned this week, though, is that I'm absolutely hopeless on my own. Thank goodness my new smart phone has a navigation app, or I'd have gotten lost constantly. Also, it's a very good thing my head is firmly attached to my shoulders, because I guarantee, I'd have walked off without it at some point.

The first morning of the conference (Thursday) I woke up in my hotel room (after staying up too late reading), and tidied up. I put my purse in one of the dresser drawers. Ya know, so the maids wouldn't steal it (because everyone knows that dishonest maids never steal anything that isn't in plain view).

That night, I drove out to Chili's to pick up some take-out. Before I left, I checked for all the things I'd need. Room key, check. Sunglasses, check. Wallet, check. Cell phone for navigation, check. Down the stairs I went, feeling virtuous. And realized I couldn't get into my vehicle. Keys? Fail. I took the elevator back upstairs. And down.

The next morning (Friday, after another too-late-night reading), I got all my stuff packed back up and loaded in the vehicle. Went to the lobby to turn in my key and eat breakfast. Realized I didn't know where I'd put the receipt for Chili's. Got the desk to give me my key back. Went through my bag. ('Cause how embarrassing would it be to go all the way back upstairs and find out I had the receipt in my bag the whole time?) Nada. Left my bag with a colleague... returned to my bag to find the room key I'd just been given. Walked up the stairs. (Check me, huh?) Searched my Chili's garbage. Searched the various drawers I might have stuffed a receipt into. Searched the bed. Nothing. (It occurs to me that I don't now remember searching under the bed. Le sigh.) Ended up returning to Chili's after the conference to beg for another receipt.

Left my car keys on the counter at Chili's. Had to go back in.

Drove two hours home (thank you, cell-phone navigation system). Realized, whilst getting out of my vehicle, that I didn't have my purse. Because I'd cleverly hidden it from the maids in the dresser drawer.

Apparently, the maids discovered it soon after I checked out and called my house. My sister-in-law and her husband picked it up for me that night. Until we go back up, I'm without a few keys, a library book, and some various lotions.

The take-away?

1. Give any hotel I stay in my cell-phone number.
2. Make a list of what I've brought so I can make sure I take it all away with me.
3. Never travel without my husband. I obviously need a keeper.

What about you? Should you be allowed to leave the house by yourself?

September 11th

I wasn't near lower Manhattan that day, like Meg Cabot was. I didn't lose anyone I knew. Like everyone else around the world, however, I was still effected. This is my quite ordinary story.

When Flights 11, 77, and 93 took off, around 8:14 AM EDT, I was probably sleeping, safe in the mountain time zone. My husband headed off to work at about that time, and my 5-month old son may or may not have woken me up early. I can't remember.

I probably woke up sometime around 8:46 AM EDT, when Flight 11 hit Tower 1. I was a first year law student and had a class to get to that morning. At 8:59 AM EDT, while passengers on Flight 175 made final calls to loved ones on their way to their 9:03 appointment with Tower 2, I was probably feeding and cooing at my son. What with dressing myself and getting the baby ready for the sitter, I didn't have time for the morning news.

At around 9:37 AM EDT, when Flight 77 crashed into the Pentagon, I would have left my apartment and crossed the quad of the married student housing to drop my son off at the babysitter's apartment. My husband had totaled my car just a few days prior, so I had to walk to school, about ten minutes away.

My babysitter had been watching the news, and told me what had happened. Though I certainly didn't doubt her, it still wasn't real. I didn't know anyone who might have been in danger. The immediate impact on my life was abstract enough that I spent the walk to school being grateful that my worst problem was the lack of a vehicle--and wondering what they'd call the tragedy. "September 11th" was the obvious choice.

Class was scheduled to start at about 8:00 am MDT, as Tower 2 was collapsing. I remember standing in the hallway with other law students, watching one of the monitors in the corner of the ceiling, as professors rushed around. I don't remember being aware of the towers falling in real-time, so perhaps class started later, or it took me a while to wander  through the building to see the monitor. About that same time, Flight 93 crashed in Pennsylvania, though we didn't know about that for a while.

Eventually, the professors told us that they'd decided to cancel class. Mainly in the interests of national solidarity, since it seemed unconscionable to go on with our normal lives, pretending everything was fine, just because no one had destroyed one of OUR buildings.

Tower 1 fell at 10:28 AM EST, so by the time I picked up my baby and got home, most of the tragedy was over. I spent the day holding my son, staring at the television, and counting my blessings.

A few years later, I learned that a surgeon I knew had been in New York for a conference that day. As might be expected, they went to area hospitals to help out with what they expected to be a huge influx of wounded. He says that there were no wounded to help. They waited and waited, but no one came needing their skills.

In the patriotic furor that followed that day, my husband and I put a fast-food restaurant window cling in the back window of our new-to-us vehicle. Above the image of the American flag, it says "God Bless America" and underneath it says "September 11, 2001". It's still there today--we've never found an appropriate time to remove it.

All three of my sons have grown up knowing about 9/11. We haven't shielded them from it. Today, while exploring the 9/11 interactive timeline available through the National 9/11 Memorial, I had to remind my 8-year-old that what happened that day is not good fodder for jokes. They understand most of what happened, but not why or what it means for them. They have no nightmares.

Over the last few weeks, my husband and I have been watching the series "Rising: Rebuilding Ground Zero" on the Discovery Channel. I highly recommend it--and not just because it turns out it was directed by Steven Spielberg. The series doesn't focus on the tragedy, but on the hopeful future. On the way America is rising from the ashes of tragedy to come back bigger and better than we were before.

The saying goes that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I heard a woman with terminal brain cancer joke once that even things that DO kill you can make you stronger. I pray that the deaths--of people, of ideals, and of some measure of hope--of September 11, 2001, can indeed continue to strengthen us as a nation. We need to get beyond sorrow, hate, and revenge and focus instead on the future, on the triumph of the human spirit. On using our hard-earned strength for good. That's what the heroes of that day did. We can do no less.

Need Another Time-Waster?

I'm supposed to be finishing my edit today. I have two lovely stacks of paper in front of me. My line edit and my mom's line edit. They're all set to be transferred to the computer. I even opened the document.

Other things I've accomplished today:

1. Cleaned the dust off the computer desk (so it wouldn't soil my lovely paper piles)


2. Unloaded, loaded, and ran the dishwasher


3. Set up my kids with games on the laptop ('cause I'm using the big computer to finish my edit)


4. Fed my kids breakfast and lunch


5. Ate lunch myself (need energy for all the editing I'm about to do)


6. Researched alternate royal titles and Irish names


7. Watched Bugs & Daffy escape from jail (while sitting in my computer chair--I really need a separate office if I'm going to get editing done)


8. Laughed at Phineas and Ferb (who can resist that show?)


9. Wiped off a counter in the kitchen


10. Read a bunch of blogs (mostly about editing--'cause I need to, like, edit)


11. Pondered favorite time-wasters


12. This blog post

I'm sure YOU never have a problem with this, but should you ever need to let your mind rest from your WIP, I'd like to tell you about one of my favorite online games: Wizzball.

To play, you start out with a board shadowed to helpfully show you where the pieces will go. The list at the bottom shows you which pieces you have to play with.

Placing all the pieces correctly will help you take the little black ball from the chute to the goal! Fun, hey? But wait! There's MORE!

You can also create and submit your OWN puzzles, so others can solve them! Doesn't that sound fun? Almost as fun as writing a whole book that others can enjoy. And it takes a lot less time, too.

This here is my very own creation. Can you see my subliminal message about what I SHOULD be working on instead?

Then, um, I tried to submit it. And realized that there are some really stupid rules about unused blocks. And that the unused blocks can flash RED!! What better way to help my blog readers see my subliminal message, thought I.

Success!

And now I feel strangely compelled to work on my WIP. Don't you?

Okay, I'm gonna get back to work. Really. Right now. Watch me go....

(What are your favorite time-wasters online? Yanno, in case I need more ideas. Like, after I'm done with this edit. 'Cause I'm so totally getting back to work. Right. Now.)

Where were YOU 11 years ago?

2013 Note: I can't let the advice in this post stand without a disclaimer: I'm now divorced. We didn't make it to 13 years. Please take all advice herein with a large grain of salt. Obviously, I don't really know what I'm talking about. Thought I did, though. Feel free to cherry pick what might work for you. Also, these rules probably work best if they're followed by both spouses. Just saying.

Okay, so Will and Kate are married. Can we talk about something else? This girl had the right idea:

Forever infamous Grace Van Cutsem. She was "over it" before "over it" was cool.

No, I'm not knocking everyone's favorite couple. I'm half Brit, myself (my dad has the accent to prove it), so I'm genetically inclined to be impressed by the royal family. Plus, I can't help myself: Will and Kate are COOL. Wasn't her dress gorgeous? What a sweet couple of kisses, huh? :)

But enough about them. Let's talk about me. The day before the Wedding of the Century, I celebrated my 11th Wedding Anniversary. (Yes, I got married in the year 2000 so that I would never need math to figure out how long I'd been married. Don't you wish you'd been that smart?)

Anyway, this was me and my hubby way back then:

We did this so much, his uncle gave us some lip balm at the luncheon.
Absolutely no little girls made faces in our pictures.

Isn't he handsome? His hair has never been long enough to part, since.

In honor of my anniversary, I thought I'd share with everyone the secrets of a long and happy 11-year (and counting) marriage. If your name is Will or Kate, feel free to emulate our example in your own marriage. The rest of you, just keep muddling along on your own. Nothing else to see here....

1. Our Rule #1 has always been "No Sleeping on the Couch." While the spirit of this law (don't go to sleep angry) has been kept, there have been many nights when I've had to wander out of the bedroom to rouse my sleeping husband at 3:00 am, so he can join me in bed. More, "sleeping apart" has happened a lot more than we'd like, with hunting season and various professional conferences taking their toll on our nights together. Still, this is a very good guideline to have. You should never be just roommates with the one you love.
2. No veto power. Jerry has lots of friends who call him lucky because I "let" him do so many things. He's on ski patrol, he goes hunting and fishing, he goes out shooting guns and playing lumberjack. Remarkable freedom for an old married man, yes? For my part, I got to drag an Idaho boy out of Idaho for FOUR LONG YEARS so I could finish my education in the BIG CITY of Provo, Utah (poor thing barely survived) and I still regularly ignore him to read, to write, to blog, and to travel to conferences where I sometimes forget to call home (oops). Why do we let each other do these things? Because we have no choice. (Oh, yeah, and because it makes the other one happy, blah, blah, blah.) I don't get to dictate to Jerry what he's allowed to do. He doesn't get to dictate to me what I'm allowed to do. We take care of our family duties as a team, but we accommodate each other when outside interests take us away. We aren't jealous of each other's time.
3. Be the Grown-Up. The first two won't work unless you act older than two. Have a little confidence in the one you married. Don't get your feel-bads all in a twist over the little things that go wrong. Take your love for granted--by which I mean accept it as a constant, and not to stop nurturing it--and don't keep checking to make sure it's still there. Paranoia is not attractive. Do the things that make your spouse happy without keeping score (except on the super-secret scoreboard you've hidden under the bed and will never EVER bring up in conversation).
4. Forgive, forgive, forgive, and APOLOGIZE FIRST. After every fight, remember this rule: the winner of the fight is the one who apologizes first. The one who can calm down the fastest. The one who can figure out what the heck the other one was saying and realize that he/she had a good point. (A wrong point, perhaps, but certainly understandable.) Once you pull your head out, it's a race to see who can ferret out all the things you personally said that might possibly have been exaggerations, euphemisms, or outright excrement. Once you've figured that out, apologize for your part in the mess. Realize that it would never have become a mess if you'd been just a bit more #3. Then forgive your spouse (and yourself) for not being more #3. Winner gets make-up... um... you know.
5. Nothing separates you. Kids don't sleep in your bed. They don't sit between you at church (yes, it's possible to keep them quiet if you have long enough arms). Mom and dad's places at the table are right next to each other, and damn the location of the head and foot. Watching a family movie? Mom and dad sit together. Don't underestimate the value of physical proximity to help your bodies and minds remember who your other half is. Support each other in everything--especially against children, in-laws, and random catty neighbors. Even if you agree with whoever is saying bad things about your spouse, you FIGHT FOR THEM. You defend them against all comers. The only one allowed to put your spouse down is you. In the privacy of your own home. Right before you do #4. If you're ever tempted to complain about your spouse, don't. Not to your mom or to your best friend. As supportive as they can be, those third partiers could hold a grudge against your spouse for the awful, awful things s/he did long after you've done #3 and #4, gotten back to #1, and remembered that you're in love. And that you have very good reasons to be so.

I'm sure there's a lot more, but my big bully of a husband is forcing me to bed (this blog will post automatically at 8 am, but my kids will wake up automatically at 7 am. In seven hours.) before he goes out on a walk to try to get his hip to settle for the night. Hopefully, he'll find his way to bed eventually....

Anyone want to help add to the list?