Summer, for a mama, is consumed with the constant slathering of sunscreen, a trail of wet swimsuits and towels, overstretched bedtimes and groggy mornings of half eaten bowls of cereal. It’s a series of joyful moments mixed with empty pantries and projects we never started which unceremoniously catapults us to mid-August, exhausted and staring down the start of a new school year.

When a friend suggested we go for a massage before the craziness of September begins, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. The thought of an hour lying in perfect stillness, under dim lighting, with scented oil, soothing music, and a light touch, made me positively giddy.

Sunday afternoon, we put on luxurious robes and waited, wine in hand, for our masseuses to escort us to our private sanctuary.  Around the corner came two men holding clipboards. I avoided eye contact with my friend for fear of bursting into laughter. We had just commented that we had never had a male masseuse and were certain we could never relax under those circumstances.

Sure enough, the gentlemen were there for us. I followed the taller of the two into a room and he sat looking over the form I had filled out upon arrival. Question two asked the reason for my visit. I had written “four children.” I watched his face closely as he continued down the questionnaire. His expression revealed when he had arrived at question five. It asked my desired outcome of the service being provided. I had penned “utopia.” I felt it was an achievable goal. He seemed a bit unnerved.

I settled onto the table and he began. I found it surprisingly easy to relax and gave in fully to a meditative state. My euphoria was abruptly interrupted by the sound of his voice.

“Do you lift heavy things?” he asked with a puzzled tone.

My laughter reflex bubbled up but I stuffed it back down as I replied, “Just my kids.”

Silence returned and I focused on waves crashing on an island shore.

He cleared his throat. “Do they weigh a lot?”

The pent up laughter made my stomach hurt .

“The younger two are ages four and five. I try to avoid picking up the ten and twelve year old,” I deadpanned.

A momentary pause, then a snort, followed by uncontrollable giggling. But the sound didn’t come from me. I could feel my masseuse shaking with laughter, unable to get himself back under control.

The massage continued but each time I would finally drift into a deep state of relaxation, he would randomly burst into giggles, which forced me to crack up. It was like an episode of “Mama’s Family” gone wrong.

He had just begun to massage my upper neck and head when he paused again.

“Hmmmm….” he said in a baffled voice.

“What now?” I exclaimed.

“Do you get headaches a lot?” he asked.

“No”

“Does it hurt here?” he pressed.

“Not really.”

“Car accident?” he inquired.

“Never”

He stopped talking.

“Well, what’s wrong with me,” I demanded.

He kept massaging and said, “There’s just a lot going on back here.”

A lot going on back here is what you say when observing a designer dress, not the posterior of someone’s head.

“Well, it could be a tumor,” I said incredulously.

Without missing a beat he responded, “I’m sure you’ll be totally fine, but I’m really not permitted to diagnose.”

The absurdity of the statement hit us both and we began to laugh hysterically.

“Thanks,” I managed to spit out. “I came in to relax and I am leaving with a possible tumor. Best massage ever.”

“No,” he backpedaled, gasping for breath and trying to stop laughing. “It’s nothing like that…really. You are totally fine, but then again….”

“….I’m not allowed to diagnose,” we howled in unison.

It was not the massage I had envisioned but sometimes, the unexpected and unplanned, is just what we need. I left, sides hurting from laughter, relaxed shoulders ready to pick up my heavy children, and armed with the idea for a brilliant new therapy, the comedic massage. It was as near to utopia as I could get.

Fall is fast approaching mamas. Life is about to ramp up to warp speed. Busy will take over. The stolen moments of summer spontaneity will cease. My prayer for you is to intentionally make time this week to take a mama break. Relax, take a breath and recharge. Search for utopia.

With this lesson in mind, there will be no new “Devo on the Go” posts for the last two weeks of August. I am going to dig into the last fragments of summer with my kiddos. Firefly catching, melting ice cream cones, lazy dips at the pool ……..and maybe a quick trip to the neurologist. Just to be sure.

No worries – “Devo on the Go” will return the first week in September, refreshed, renewed and full of crazy mama stories and inspiration. I will also be announcing some exciting news about the launch of the new “B-Study on the Go,” so stay tuned!