Red Hot Momma now has a new home!
All future posts will be at my new site. Check my blog roll and see if you are there. In the process of moving some links may have been accidentally left out. If you want to be added- just leave a comment and your link.
Please drop by the new site and let me know you found me! Thanks for reading!
The following list is just for fun. Do not send the Red Hot Momma hate mail over it! 
1. Do you think I should loose some weight?
2. What do you really think about my mom?
3. Would you be happier if I looked like ____?
4. Who gave you the best kiss you ever got?
5. Our waitress was hitting on you! Didn’t you notice?
6. Is there anything I could do to improve my looks?
7. Would you rather watch t.v. or talk about our relationship?
8. Want to watch the Science channel for the next seven hours with me?
9. Do you wish I made more money?
10. Should we have more foreplay?
Thank you all so much for nominating Amanda Sanders Blog and Red Hot Momma for a Christian BloggerAward. Both blogs are finalists! I am so honored you took the time to vote for me! I also want to thank Theobloggers for hosting the awards. Thank you! Thank you!
There are many talented bloggers nominated, please vote for whomever you wish. Please just vote! If you can make it for the Tulsa Workshop, come by for the Bloggers Luncheon. Thanks again!
I found this list on the Family Dynamics Institute website today. The list was suggested as a starting point for intimacy in marriage. What would you add as an essential ”Must Know”?
1. Birthday _____________________________________________
2. Birth City _____________________________________________
3. Favorite Color _________________________________________
4. Favorite College Team ___________________________________
5. Favorite Bible Story _____________________________________
6. Favorite Season of the Year ______________________________
7. Favorite Food __________________________________________
8. Favorite Drink __________________________________________
9. Favorite Restaurant _____________________________________
10. Favorite TV show ______________________________________
11. Anniversary Date ______________________________________
12. Dream Place to Visit ___________________________________
13. Favorite City __________________________________________
14. Favorite Song/Singer/Band ______________________________
15. Prays for often ________________________________________
16. Favorite Cartoon Character ______________________________
17. Favorite Bible Character ________________________________
18. Favorite Vacation Spot _________________________________
19. Carries Tension in this Body Area _________________________
20. Favorite Movie _________________________________________
My husband is not romantic in the traditional sense. He is not wired that way. Since I have had the pleasure of being the object of his affection since we were twelve years old, I can personally attest to the fact that he has always been this way. I thought, as young silly girls do, that I would change all of that. I would turn him into a Casanova on a Triumph. (That was his motorcycle at the time) It was just a matter of time…
Fast forward eighteen disappointing years later. After crying, nagging and pouting, I am embarrassed to admit, that I finally realized my definition of romance needed to change. Starting from scratch I through out my notions of what romance was and looked at what romance can be. Romance in my mind looked nothing like romance to my husband. Vice versa. We are simply completely opposite. I am a walking encyclopedia of romantic gestures. Mr. Red Hot is a digital library of diesel mechanics. Hespeaks in binary code and I speak in Latin. Not really, but you get the idea.
Red Hot Momma’s have to adjust their thinking sometimes. My new definition of romance became anything he did to make my life more comfortable or safer. Like checking the air in my tires before I drive my car, even though the car lets me know if my tires are low. Keeping the kids quiet when I am sleeping in. Getting up with the kids in the middle of the night, if they are sick. Throwing a load of laundry in to wash. Sorting that horrendous basket of 189 unmatched white socks. Cooking a meal or two on his days off work. Always taking the boys with him, even if he is just going outside to work. Offering to watch the kids so I can have a break. Romance is a expression of love. By doing these things for me, he is expressing his love. Therefore being romantic.
When I started accepting these acts of love as romance, a funny thing happened. He started buying me flowers. For no reason. Just because I love them. So, all of my efforts to make him romantic, just made him miserable. By appreciating what he does do for me, I freed him to be “romantic”. I suppose romance is truly just appreciation. What do you think?
It’s coming people. Valentine’s Day. The most disturbing and disappointing of all holidays. If you are a super romantic spouse, if you live for Valentine’s Day, if you cannot understand why everyone doesn’t embrace this day as slightly less important than Christmas with the family- you are excused from reading any further. Go, please, spread you good cheer and good will elsewhere!
Surprised to hear a Red Hot Momma dissing V-Day?
Let me tell you something. Valentine’s Day is a great idea, in theory. Take an official time out of our busy, less than romantic lives to tell others we love them. Show in deeds, not just words, that we care about each other. Do something that makes our spouses sit down and say “Yes. There it is! The reason I wanted to get married to this person in the first place!”
The reality is far more grim. More hard feelings and strife results from this holiday than any other! Especially with in the confines of Holy Matrimony. Okay, I admit that I don’t have any hard data to back that up. But I have lots of experiential data that proves this day is a disaster waiting to happen. And it happens every year!
Now before I go all Chicken Little on you, I have to say that not every couple is Valentine’s Day impaired. There are many, many of you out there. God bless your souls! Because I occasionally hear stories about you all. Usually just before I flip the channel or change the radio station. Kidding!
I am going to go out on a limb and say that most of us are VD Impaired. Not because we want to be handicapped in this area. We just are. We have tried. Disappointed or spouses and ourselves so thoroughly, that we just want to hide under the covers until the day passes. So, if you have set out to woo your spouse and have failed, miserably, time and time again- I say loudly to you “Welcome Friend”.
I am the first to admit that I have held too high expectations for my spouse. And myself. I have believed the lie that if we really love one another, we will have a fairy tale day! ( Darn it! ) Pressure! Pressure! Whisk your spouse off to an exotic island. Cover the bedroom in rose petals. Drop thirty five pounds and slither into some bizarre looking lingerie. And on and on….
I have spent many hours pouring over sugary sweet cards that ended up on his dresser, after a quick perusal. He has brought me candy that I didn’t need, flowers that died almost as soon as they were transported through our front door. We have waited two hours in frigid temps to dine out because, after all, it’s Valentine’s Day!
Perhaps Mr. Red Hot’s fear and dread of the day has spread to me. But before we write off my loathing of the execution of this holiday, I humbly ask how many disaster stories do you personally have? If you don’t have any, just ask around. ”What was your worst Valentine’s Day ever?’ I am going to bet that you will barely get the words out before the cringe worthy answer is blasted back at you.
A note of sympathy. I feel extremely sorry for anyone who is single AND ”currently looking” on VD. It is comparable to being forced to wear a scarlet “S” to denote that you, indeed, are un-coupled. To be single on the most romantic day of the year is simply dreadful by the Hallmark standard. ”Here you go. Poor thing. Take your hump and limp up to the bell tower with the rest of the unfortunate souls…”. The pressure and expectation is just ridiculous. It is just a day on the calendar. Not a judgement of character. I suggest ignoring the hoop la. Or better yet do something nice for yourself.
Well. I suppose I will get off my soap box now. I have work to do and of course, Valentine’s cards to buy.
Red Hot Momma’s like to be right. In fact they love it. They love, love, love to be right. It makes them feel good. Smart. Competent. Being right chases away all those nagging doubts about how good she is at mothering multiple human beings and anything else that keeps her awake at night.
Yes. Being right is goooood.
Until it isn’t. The farther this Red Hot Momma makes it down the road of Holy Matrimony, the more sure she becomes about a few things. Namely, we can’t always be right and happy at the same time. It’s true. Sometimes, okay, many times, we just have to swallow our pride and go on down the road. Dying to self, I believe it’s called.
This isn’t a popular concept in any generation. Especially mine, the tale end of Gen X. We have been told we can do anything we want. With whomever we want. Whenever we want. As long as it makes us happy. Speak up, stand your ground. You deserve better- so take it. Or make it. Rah Rah Sis Boom Bah!
What happens then when two Gen Xer’s get married? Each demanding a public declaration and or flogging of the partner deemed to be “wrong”.
Fireworks. Not the good kind that leave you sweaty and satisfied. The bad kind that leave you shaking and certain you have inadvertently married the Anti- Christ.
So we wrestle with ego and God. Whining to whomever will listen, “But I am right! Darn it!”. Somewhere along the road between marriage and divorce one must decide if it is better to be right or be happy. This is not to say that there is nothing that is worth going to the mat over. Just very few things.
In this Red Hot Momma’s marriage, there has been near blood shed over stupid things. Like are Nick Nolte and Gary Busey the same person? (Nope) Why does the caged bird sing? (NOT getting near this one) And many, many wrong turns and detours that ended in tears. At least one of us.
Red Hot Momma’s have to make the call. Is it really worth it, in the end? Does it matter that this person you have yoked yourself to doesn’t have a working knowledge of or appreciation for 1980’s punk rock? Does it matter that he gets lost every time you drive through Memphis? Will the world continue turning if she leaves her wet towel on the floor all day?
Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy?
Red Hot Momma’s try to be good. They really do. Sometimes it just doesn’t turn out the way we intended… For instance, Mr. Red Hot comes home in a bad mood. Let’s say he got mugged or worse a new, younger boss that is anything but fair. Mrs. Red Hot decides that if Mr. Red Hot wants to feel better he must TALK about it. (Did I hear a collective groan?) Not just talk about it, cry too. Right now.
Ugh. Mr. Red Hot doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to punch something…or someone. Right now. Mrs. Red Hot persists; “How does that make you feel, Dear”. Mr. Red Hot has had enough. Mr. Red Hot is becoming..well…red hot..mad. Mrs. Red Hot senses that her efforts to make the Mister feel better have gone wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. The young Red Hot Momma’s among us might find themselves feeling angry now too. Angry at Mr. Red Hot. Hurt feelings and hurt pride really want to take over and have a hissy fit. So now everyone is angry and no one is going to bed happy. At this point in the conversation, in the marriage, it is best to start over. Literally.
This Red Hot Momma learned a nifty little trick a few years back that has changed my life. Not to mention my marriage. When things are going downhill quick. When every attempt to reach out to your partner is failing. Miserably. Someone needs to call a “Let’s start over”. It’ s like a adult time out.
“Let’s Start Over” means the following. “Wow. How did this happen? I couldn’t wait to get home to you today. Now, I’m checkin’ out Expedia for a one way ticket to Aruba. Let’s step back for a second. We are on the same team here. I love you. You love me. Let’s try this again.”
Depending on the severity of the situation, one may have to start over all the way back five p.m., even though it’s 9:45. It can be hard to keep a straight face while greeting your spouse after you have been screaming or ignoring one another for the last four hours. Try it. Start over. “How are you sweetie?” “Fine. And you?” “Well, I had a really crappy day, but it’s over now.” “If you want to talk about it, I’m here for you.” “Thanks.”
It feels forced at first. Ridiculously so. Give it time. Go with the flow. Pray for a change of heart. (Notice I didn’t say for which one of you ) Pretty soon, things will start turning around. If by nothing more than the sheer absurdity of what you are doing.
LSO’s come with some ground rules. You cannot use a LSO to avoid serious problems. Or in a passive aggressive way, like “Your mother is from hell! Let’s have a time out..”. They can’t be used to often either. LSO’s are like a spare tire in the trunk of your marriage. They are good for the occasional blow out, but you don’t want to drive on them everyday.
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.
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!
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