Who knew?

Ever crave ice to chew on?  Could be a sign of Anemia!  I had no clue.. check out the article below.

 http://www.naturalhealthmag.com/ice_anemic/expert_advice/27

An Open letter to new gym members

Hi.  You don’t know me and I don’t know you.  Still, I have been watching you. 

Not in a creepy way!  Just noticing you and praying for you.  See, I know how hard it is to walk into a gym.  Everybody looks like the cover models for Men’s Health or Women’s Fitness.  TTTH.  Tanned. Toned. Totally hot.  It is enough to make even the most confident among us hide in the locker room.

I am going to tell you a secret. The hardest part of working out is wading through the masses of beautiful people.  A word of caution- don’t gaze upon their beauty to long.  You might start feeling inferior.  Just hold your head up high.  Look straight ahead and walk to the machine you have chosen. 

Ask for help when you need it.  You actually draw more attention to yourself trying to wing it on your own.  In the off chance that you fall off the rowing machine, just remember to laugh.  Roll over.  Get back up and try it again. Next time use those foot straps.  That is what they are for. 

Some folks might be snotty. Hostile even.  As though you are Satan himself because you are on “their” treadmill.  People get weird about that kind of thing.  They spend a lot of time on a machine.  Sweating, praying. A kind of relationship develops. The person wants it to be exclusive, not realizing the machine is just doing it’s job.  Nothing personal.  So when Mr. Biceps or Miss Ab’s see you on “their” machine, it is only natural they feel irritated. Don’t take it personally. In a few months from now you may be having a one-sided relationship of your own.

Stop pulling on your clothes dear.  It makes you stand out.  Wear clothes that fit.  Not clothes you wish would fit.  Trust me.  You will feel better if you can move in your pants.  Same with shirt.  A misguided error of those who weigh more than average is that by wearing form fitting clothing one looks smaller.  It’s a myth.  I know.    Pick nice clothes that are flattering on you.  Not the “Biggest Loser Fantasy” you.

Remember, it isn’t high school.  It’s a gym.  You are there to work out.  Not to be “seen”.  No one is looking at you.  They are busy.  Working out and worrying if someone is looking at them. 

Don’t be a hater.  Yes there are incredible humans crawling all over the gym.  Gorgeous.  A few were born with it.  Most have worked for it.  Be happy for them.  If you can’t be gracious on your own, pray for God to help you. 

Don’t envy.  Thou shall not covet the neighbors pec’s.  Nor glutes.  Nor ab’s.  Focus on being healthy.  Not looking like _____.  You are not a number on a scale.  Your life in not measured by inches lost or gained.  You are God’s beloved creation.  His masterpiece. 

Keep coming.  In a few weeks, you will be sore.  Maybe a little or a lot discouraged. Not to mention the droning questions from well meaning, and not so well meaning, friends and family members.  For some reason, when people find out you go to a gym, they always ask the same question- “How much weight have you lost?” As though, just by signing the contract you automatically loose five pounds as a bonus!

Don’t slap them.  I know it would feel really good, but don’t. Pity them instead.  They have bought into our culture’s obsession with numbers.  Which is ridiculous and dangerous.  Take a deep breath and say “I am focused on being healthy.  Not numbers.”  It is okay to sound a little superior when you say this.  You have my permission.  This will either end or seriously curb their obsession with your progress. 

The most important thing  to remember is to be grateful.  Thank God you can move.  Pray as you run.  Exercise can be a spiritual discipline.  A chance to be mentally quiet and still while moving.  Worship.

The family bed

This Red Hot Momma has just celebrated the one year mark of the kid free bed. I really never intended to co sleep.  I think that is the politically correct term.  It just happened. 

Our first baby started out in the bassinet.  Soon, though I can’t remember exactly when, he ended up in the middle of our king sized bed.  We all slept better.  Until he was around two.  He was, as all little kids are, miserable to sleep with.  Despite having an adequate sized sleeping space, Mr. and Mrs. Red Hot found themselves clinging to the edges of the mattress.  Praying for the morning to hurry up and come already.

Enter baby number two.  We have a few photos of him sleeping in his bassinet.  Otherwise I would not believe it had ever happened.  He fit right in to the snug bed.  We adjusted and grumbled.  Still the will to remedy the situation was absent.  Until a year and a half later.

Enter baby number three.  Five was a number we were not willing to maneuver.  The oldest went to his own bed.  The middle went to a toddler bed.  The baby went to the bassinet.  It lasted one night.  Two tops.  Baby number two, now a toddler made his way into our bed around midnight.  Baby number one, now bigger than a few of his grandparents came in around three a.m.  After years and years of the nightly rotation into and out of our bed, Mrs. Red Hot had enough.  Everyone sleeps in his own bed.  All night. 

Having the bed to ourselves once again was amazing.  A kid free zone! We would lie in our big bed and watch Family Guy.  Eating ice cream or reading to one another.  It became my favorite time of the day.  Still is. 

Lot’s of new Red Hot Momma’s wrestle with should we or shouldn’t we put the baby in bed with us.  I have mixed feelings.  I absolutely adored my babies in bed with us.  The world just felt right.  Snuggled in bed with the man l loved.  The product (or products ) of our love lying peacefully between us.  I would not trade anything for those memories.  I also love it being just the two of us. In fact, having a time that is just “ours” has been revitalizing for our marriage.  Not to mention how much better rested I am now, compared to then. 

So looking back…Yes.  I would do it all just the same again.  But, I am so glad I don’t have to!    Good Night!

In the mood

Why is sex so complicated?  Not the actual act.  That is the smooth part.  ( No pun intended) It’s the buildup to the actual getting down to business that is tricky.  A dance of seduction.  Fragile and full of emotion.  That could go bad at any moment…

I can only guess at what goes on inside the male brain, as I am female.  But for us girls, the complications that could ensue are endless.  Even for the reddest, hottest Red Hot Momma’s among us.  The phone rings. Offspring knock on the door. Worse yet, stand outside and say “I know you are doing something in there!  I can here you moving!”  ( This actually happened with our four year old.  Shudder.)  Someone has a nightmare or the inner radar of children goes off.  The one that makes sure NOTHING happens in the home- unless they are involved. 

Maybe I am just in a bad mood.  ( Another impediment to great sex!) Frankly, I am tired of being bombarded by the images of Super Sexual Woman in every magazine I read and show I watch.  SSW is a lot like a super hero.  She wears a crisp white shirt unbuttoned down to her navel.  Revealing a heaving bosom in a push up bra.  Her tailored jacket and short skirt revealing thigh high stockings and a garter belt.  Black stiletto heels round out her ensemble.  She holds a whip in one hand and a baby in the other.  She is a sexual tigress who can bring home the bacon.  Fry it up in the pan.  Wash the pan.  Bathe and nurture the children.  Then rock her husband’s world.  All without missing a beat, and in less than an hour. Super Sexual Woman has no trouble leaping small buildings or shifting roles on a dime.  She is super.  She is sexual.  ROAR! 

Back in the real world…

How does a Red Hot Momma get there?  Then stay there.

I don’t know. 

I think it requires a good sense of humor.  A sense of camaraderie as in, “We are both in this together.  We will find a way.”  The same kind of commitment it took to enjoy a kiss or more when dating is required while parenting.  Sneaking around tactics still apply, just in a different setting.  A really good imagination and a sense of  adventure.

A stolen moment in the laundry room can be hot.  If you can focus on your husband and not the laundry.  If you can focus on the way it feels to be kissed.  Really kissed, thoroughly.  Passionately.   The naughtiness of it all, kissing instead of working!  The heady feeling of being desired, even though you are standing in a pile of stinking soggy clothes.

loving the moment

 We are on our yearly get away, sans children.  It is something we both look forward to all year.  October comes and we begin speaking of our planned getaway.  As in, “We just have to make it a few more months…”. Especially during the hectic, trying times.

By the time Christmas has arrived, the reservations have been made.  We simply tread water for the next six days. Waiting. Hoping and praying no one gets sick.  We buy snacks. New clothes. Research good places to eat. Fun things to try. Packing happens the night before we leave.  In frenzied excitement and hushed tones.  We kiss.  Hold hands.  Dream out loud.

The first day is a blur of fatigue and unpacking.  Settling in.  The second holds the promise of relaxation,but doesn’t quite deliver. It is the next day that I always look forward too. The third feels somewhat dreamy. Slow paced and perfect. I find myself  relaxed. Looking at him.  Really looking at him. Listening to him talk.  Flirting.  Remembering why I wanted to have children with him in the first place.  He is funny.  Thoughtful.  Attentive.  Even romantic. He hangs on my every word, while I find myself blushing by his full attention.  Yes.  Day three is my favorite. 

Today is Day Three of this years trip.  The turning point.  When I, once again, am stunned by the force of my love for him.  His love for me.  It is there in our home, every day.  Buried under the baskets of unmatched socks.  Wedged in between the dog, kids, four pillows, and remote control in our king sized bed. Quiet.  Often unremarkable.  But when removed from it’s native environment, our love steals the show.  It isn’t tame or civilized.  It is loud and showy.  We are no longer reserved.  We laugh and kiss and laugh some more.

Day three is also bitter sweet.  Our time together is almost over. Real life is just around the corner. Bills, potty training, and a hundred unaswerable questions a day are waiting. 

But for now, there are only the two of us.

He is resting there in the bed.  Covered in clean white sheets.  His breath slow and steady.  I close my eyes.  Listening.  Memorizing the way he sounds. The way he looks.  Loving this moment.