My first (and likely last) couples massage

My husband is a dear, sweet man. For Mother’s Day, he thought it would be a nice gesture to give me a gift certificate for a one hour, full body massage. I do love massages after all, and I always look forward to our MOPS spa nights because of them. Of course those are chair massages. Hopefully, my words and expression upon receiving said gift did not betray my true feelings of panic. 

A full body massage? Don’t you have to strip down naked for that? And what exactly do they mean by “full body”? Is that to be understood literally?

In the following weeks, he continued to ask me when I was going to use my certificate. I finally had to level with the man. I was just too scared to go by myself. And so, being the dear, sweet man that he is, he volunteered to go with me. (And to consider it his Father’s Day gift, no less!)

Anyone who knows my husband knows that he tends to be a wee bit puritanical in his ways. If you’d like to see his ears turn red, simply throw out the word “sex” or “tampon” the next time you're in his company. It is for this reason that I know it was a true sacrifice on his part to accompany me on this adventure.

He confessed to me as we were eating just before our scheduled massage time that he was nervous. My poor darling. At this point, I was simply looking forward to it. After all, my Buddy would be by my side. We would face this thing together. Head on!

And then, the reign of terror begin. 

The particular massage studio that he had chosen boasted an Asian massage, and apparently that wasn’t just the name of the technique. The lady who greeted us was very kind, but she certainly spoke with some broken English. It is for this reason that neither one of us was clear on what exactly we were supposed to be doing with our skivvies. Isaiah (naturally) interpreted her instructions to include leaving them on, so on they stayed! We covered ourselves securely with the provided towels and awaited our first massage experience.

All was going well for the first few minutes until the towel was moved down. Waaaaaay down. I was prepared for this of course, but not for what came next…

Is she…? Is she actually rolling down my underwear right now? What in the blue blazes?

Immediately following the underwear rolling was the oil. My thoughts went a little something like this, “Oh, ok, now it makes sense. She probably just didn’t want to get oil on... Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!! There is some definite hand-to-buttock contact going on here!” 

Call me old-fashioned, but I’m not a big fan of complete strangers caressing my backside. However, when she stayed above my waistline, the massage felt pretty good. (Aside from the brief moment when I suspected her of using the Vulcan nerve pinch.) And besides, I distracted my uncomfortable thoughts with the knowledge that my beloved was enduring the same underwear folding and butt fondling that I was. In fact, I had to suppress the giggles at the mental picture of his masseuse lowering his britches and dousing his cheeks with oil.

Our tables were positioned in such a way that I couldn’t actually peek over at him without raising my head up and being obvious about it, and I wasn’t exactly in a bold frame of mind. At any rate, I think I did fairly well imagining the scenario at the time.

Before too long, my undies were returned to their proper position, and the masseuse moved on to my legs. Praise God for small blessings. 

My relief was short-lived, however, as a new method of “rolling” was employed. This time around my mom panties were transformed into a makeshift thong. Awkward and uncomfortable. Nice.

At this point, the masseuse actually mounted the table and positioned herself in between my ankles, and I was terrified as to what was coming next. I clenched my buttocks as tightly as I could, willing that to be the worst of it. Is nothing sacred?! My fears were for naught, as no more re-positioning took place. I assume she just climbed up there to enable her to reach the whole of my legs (aka buttocks included) for the next round of massaging. 

Last but not least, we reached the concluding foot/calf massage. Which to my dread, required turning over. Beg pardon? I found myself hoping that the pre-trib rapture theory were true, and that Jesus would come in that very moment.

Once again I had over-reacted, though, since she politely held the towel in a manner that afforded me some privacy. Really, that probably helped her out as much as it did me. I have four kids, and my gut clearly reflects that information.

The foot/calf massage was by far the most relaxing part of this experience. The lights were almost completely dimmed, adding to the relaxation factor, and there was nothing awkward about it. Well, until the very end, when she employed some sort of strange slapping/clapping maneuvers. I felt like it was some sort of secret handshake ritual that I had never learned. Either that or a type of karate drill. An accompanying “hyah!” would have been appropriate. 

At long last, the lights came back on, and the masseuses left the room. We quickly dressed while quietly laughing together, eager to get out of earshot and reminisce about our experience. My suspicions that he had felt violated were confirmed, and we agreed to not schedule any more massages in the near future.

But every cloud has a silver lining, right? I try to turn each new experience in my life into an opportunity for learning. This time around, I was able to take several lessons away.
 . 
1. My husband is the man. He's such a good sport. Really, I already knew that, but sometimes it’s good to have a reminder.

2. On a similar note, I had forgotten how much fun it is to try new things. It may have been super awkward, but it sure was amusing! Neither one of us will forget the experience, I’m certain. I’m looking forward to more adventures with my buddy.

3. The next time I'd like a massage, I'll simply ask my husband.

Reflections on family

My six-year-old is such a little priss, so it came as no surprise to me that she asked to wear some of my jewelry yesterday morning. (Poor thing only has about six things to choose from.) I didn’t pay attention to what she had chosen until the afternoon, when I saw my ring slip off her finger. She had selected a ring that belonged to my Great Aunt Peg.

Note to self: Pay better attention to what my daughter is borrowing.

Naturally I scooped up the ring and placed it on my own finger, and I was grateful not only that she hadn’t lost it outside during playtime, but also for the memories that flooded back when I thought about its former owner.

My favorite memory will always be the time she took my sisters and I out to eat at The Rookwood in Cincinnati. It wasn’t so much the food as the death-defying car ride to the restaurant that remains vivid, complete with a mid-street, illegal U-turn. Good times. 

I loved Ohio visits to see Peg and Moni, Peg's mom and my great grandmother. We’d hit up the Big Boy, Skyline, and White Castle every time. Later we'd top it off with some UDF or Busken cookies.

(Why do so many of my favorite memories revolve around food?)

The picture at the right is from one such Ohio visit. This is a large chunk of the fam on my mom's side, though not quite all of us. In addition to our food favorites, we also spent some time at the Cincinnati Zoo, a butterfly observatory, the Ohio River, and Moni's house. I sure loved spending time with this crazy bunch. I couldn't recount many specific memories from the trip, but I remember it was fun! I'm sure it helped that my little buddy Hunter was there.

In later years, I simply remember sitting and talking with Peg. She loved to hear about how I was doing, and what the kids had been up to. And she loved it when I sent her pictures to see how they were growing. I miss Aunt Peg. I suppose we all take others for granted at times, but I know for certain that I wish I would have kept in touch with her better than I did.

After she passed away, the albums that I sent her of our ever-expanding family were returned to me. I remember sitting in her room at the retirement community, flipping through the pages. The family trickled through to organize her things and gather their own mementos. I felt so solemn in those moments, reflecting on the life she had lived. Solemn but also nauseous, because I was pregnant with my little man that she never did get to meet. Funny how our temporal circumstances can distract us from being fully engaged in the moment in which we wish to participate. How fickle we are.

Of course my final memory of Peg is her funeral. I don’t know that I’ll ever grow accustomed to seeing the body of a loved one in a box. It’s not really them that I see- just the shell of the person they were. And yet, so many good times came to mind as I stood there for one last gaze. One last look at a face I’ll never see again here on earth. 

Funerals are humbling events. They juxtapose joy and sorrow, and somehow both are appropriate. We celebrate the one we had, and we mourn that we couldn’t keep them.

I enjoyed reminiscing about Peg with my family on that trip. Some of our recorded anecdotes were read aloud at the funeral, and we all laughed together. Special memories were shared as well, tears were shed, and we commemorated her life that day. 

I shed a few more tears as I think of dear Peg again. I can still picture her smiling face and hear her bursts of laughter. Treasures that can never be taken away. That’s what memories are, really. Treasures of a different sort than the world typically searches after. But what wonderful gifts they are.

So I’m feeling pretty thankful today, even amidst the tears. Thankful for this reminder of Peg, and thankful for so many other precious times that I’ve shared with my family. We’ve gone through ups and downs, laughter and tears, peace and strife, special activities and lazy days, distance and intimacy, blow-ups and apologies, and all the stuff of this life. 

Our time has spanned from my days at the kiddie table to my graduation to sitting with the adults. Of course, these days, we don't all fit at one table anymore. Not to mention I have to spend a good deal of the time checking up on my kiddos anyway. Making sure they're not trashing my cousins' rooms and ruining their keepsakes, you know, just hypothetically speaking. And though I don't get to see some as often as others, we always pick up right where we left off.

We have shared this life together, sometimes much to our chagrin. Family is funny that way. But my goodness, I wouldn’t trade them for the world. They have shaped me and shape me still. I look forward to every priceless minute I get to spend with them. They're stuck with me, and for that I am grateful. 

**Disclaimer** These pictures don't even come close to including my entire family, just those who were usually around while I spent time with Peg. My reflections on family still include the rest of you as well!!