Anxiety is no friend of mine. In fact, I can probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I've felt truly, out-of-control anxious. Okay, maybe both hands. I'm not talking about those blockbuster stress events, like when a kid dashes out in front of an SUV or needs a trip to the ER. I'm talking instead about feeling like you've got a brick sitting in your chest, or an angry kitten in your stomach.

I simply don't DO anxiety. I don't know how to. No matter how stressed or frustrated or truly powerless I may be, I usually find peace with my lot by spreading my arms and letting the current carry me toward shore. I may drift a bit, but eventually I can hear the sound of the water change as it grows shallower. My submerged ears begin to hear the shifting sounds of the sandy, gravelly bottom and I find that I can stand up. From that moment, it's just a matter of wading out, and then shaking the water out of my ears.

Lest I sound more zen than I really am, I believe this is a truly helpless choice. I'm not a fighter. I'm not often angry. I go with the flow because it is the path of least resistance.

And yet. I am angry. I am angry and frustrated because life has thrown a giant, lumpy, slimy boulder in the middle of an already turbulent stream, and although I keep reminding myself to lay back, to trust that I will not wreck upon the rocks, I find myself fighting. My head aches from the unconscious clenching of my teeth each night. My shoulders and neck are stiff from the strain of trying to be broader, stronger, more worthy.

I cannot cry. The tears won't come.

In my chest, there is the sensation of tiny wings.

Last night, I curled on my bed, earphones pressed into my skull, trying to follow a guided meditation on relieving anxiety. Normally, a few minutes of soothing suggestions and new-age gong and flutes music drops me right into a deep sleep. But last night every suggestion was wrong. Every phrase, every metallic "boooonnnnng" - everything. I sucked in giant breaths and exhaled dramatically. The tiny wings in my chest grew more frantic.

I'll never know, I suppose, what phrase or breath did the trick, but suddenly those wings were attached to a tiny bird, and that bird was sitting on my shoulder - no longer fighting to get out, or maybe fighting to get my attention. There was the curious sensation of a little feathered life alongside my cheek.

"Fly away," I thought. The little scratchy feet on my shoulder tickled. "Fly away," I said, to the tiny wings.

A tiny wing brushed my face as I inhaled as slowly and deeply as I could. It flew away as I let go of my breath.

Posted by Jenny at 8:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Seriously, go leave me a comment to win a $500 Visa gift card.

Whoo boy. Every year at this time, there's a certain amount of mania. (Likewise in September.) You can set your clock by it, take it to the bank, whatever cliche pleases you.

Last year, my husband went on three back-to-back business trips, and I ended up with chest pains. Coincidence? Probably. Ask me in a couple of weeks, because it is business trip season once again. Plus we have soccer, plus we have baseball, plus we have the lego robot league and a Scrabble club. And other stuff.

I'm just whining, of course. You know what baffles me? The British English spelling of whining. Whinging? I get that it has older roots, and the American English version is just different, but I'm sorry. Whinging is for the birds.

Anyway, where was I? Ah, mania. Right. Laller laller laller laller laller laller laller.

This last week, I've been to a couple of doctor's appointments with my sister as she gets ready to start the chemo portion of her treatments. Although we've all tried to resign ourselves to the fact that she would most likely need the most aggressive treatments available due to her young age and the type of breast cancer she has, it was still a blow to the gut to have it confirmed by two different doctors.

Still, all things considered, we're ready to go. We're just waiting for the official go date. And in the meantime, I'm amusing myself by envisioning possible head covering options. Granted, she may not need or want to use a hat or a wig, but do you think that is squashing my fun?

My theory is that if you're going to wear a hat, yeah, you can wear a baseball cap, but why not go balls-out and wear a HAT. Like this hat. Or this one?

Don't even get me started on the wigs, because wooooo do I love wigs. I suppose that if she does opt to get a wig, she'll probably get something normal. But you know, she's an opera singer, so I'm thinking this:

is totally appropriate. And if she gets one, I get one.

So, you know, if you see two startlingly over-coiffed women wandering around, say hello. Or better yet, yell "Brava! Brava!" We'll blow kisses with our opera-length gloved fingers.

Posted by Jenny at 8:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I'm giving away a $500 gift card over here

Last night, I took my youngest to her first grade evening reading program spectacular called "Partners In Print." She was brimming with excitement about it, and despite being really tired and cranky this week, I decided that I needed to suck it up.

So, when we got there, I spotted my friends Kim and Mary with their own first graders, and we were put into the same group, which meant we hobbled our way from library to classroom to other classroom to another classroom and back to the library in a pack.

After it was all said and done, I asked what Kim and Mary have been up to lately, since I rarely get the chance to visit with them at drop-offs or pickups.

"I've been doing Zumba!" I announced. I didn't inform them that while I have indeed been "doing" Zumba, the last time I actually exercised was Wednesday. I have, however, been watching other people doing Zumba on youtube, which still can be considered "doing" if you ask me.

Mary has taken custody of my old 30-day Shred DVD, and has apparently been giving it a go. I assured her that I do NOT want it back. It's a good workout for sure, but it isn't dancing, and since 2010 is the Year of Dancing over here, I'm not going to do it this year. Or ever again.

Kim then took the subtle art of workout one-upmanship to a new level when she revealed that she's been doing PX-90. Have you heard of PX-90? It looks positively terrifying.

So, you know, I'll be doing this:

(looking like the people in the back who are fumbling around)

And Kim will be doing this:

Yeah, terrifying. I think I'm making the smarter choice here, Kim. Although I'm clearly missing out on the chance to do that "x" sign with the arms across the chest. I might work that into my routine, because Zumba people like to pose at the end of a song.

Posted by Jenny at 1:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I have Zumba'd three times now. Oh yes I have.

I pulled out the Advanced DVD and I have not died. It's actually pretty fun! My husband leaned in the entryway to our living room and watched me flail around for a few minutes. He gave me a cheery thumbs up and didn't laugh directly at my face, which was nice, considering.

Oh no. Samba time. The good news is my Samba is evolving. It no longer resembles Riverdance, and has moved onto a cross between Running Man and the Twist.

My husband, who isn't much of a dancer, joined in and absolutely nailed the Samba on his first try. What?

WHAT? At least he didn't do the thing where you lick your finger and then touch your butt while making a sizzle sound with your mouth. I would have.

In fact, I did a lot of that a few weeks back. Come read my review of the Lincoln MKT, enter to win a $500 Visa gift card and find out why my buns were so smoking hot that I needed to comment on it.

Posted by Jenny at 10:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So, number ten on my 10 for 2010 list was a bold statement: I'm going to dance.

Notice I didn't say when, or where, or what kind, or even for how long, but by golly, I'm going to dance. I find vague goals are often easier to navigate.

I do love to dance, and I've been dancing my way around the house, while cooking dinner, while folding laundry, that sort of thing. I will say it is really challenging to get a good groove going while folding sheets, but I've got quite the pot-stirring, spatula flailing routine for my new dinner-disco workout. I especially like to spice it up with some "Uh! Uh!" and hip thrusts while adding spices. It's dinner AND a show - Food Network, you should call me.

I have noticed that my stamina to rock and roll all night, and party every day has waned a bit. Okay, a lot. I used to be able to dance for hours, and now I get all winded after a couple of songs. It's pathetic. I know I could use more cardio conditioning, and although I'd love to whip out my Irish Dance DVD and give that a go, I thought I would try something that has been recommended to me by five or six different friends.

There are a bunch of these Zumba (watch out, sound loads) classes in my area, and probably in your area, too. I looked at the promo stuff online, and talked to some of my girlfriends who go to the classes and they all said the same things:

Super fun, high energy, easy to follow and also, there are a lot of older white women in the classes who loves them some Latin rhythms.

Right away, I spot a problem with this. I know there's a learning curve, and that I'm not as coordinated (ahem) as I once was, and I don't want to be shown up by a bunch of grandmas. Because you know if I went into a live class right now, I'd be the one panting in the corner while women older than my own mom were breaking it on down. My competitive streak is not one my most attractive qualities, but there it is.

No, for pride's sake, I decided I would try it at home first. When the DVDs arrived, I opened them, and like a good little at-home fitness-learner, I watched them through once. And then I put them aside for about 5 months. Because I wasn't ready for it yet.

Two days ago I decided I was finally ready. Cue the Latin Rhythms, Jenny Lauck is about to Zumba!

I pulled my hair up into a scrubby little ponytail and stood in front of my TV, watching screen after screen of disclaimers and warnings. Before I hit play to get the show on the road, I pounded on my imaginary shoulder pads a few times and jogged in place.

I was about to get my dance on.

For the first time, I followed the step-by-step beginner's tape which is an introduction to the various dance steps and hand motions that they can use.

I make it through the first demo okay. It's Merengue, and I'm feeling pretty coordinated. The incredibly gorgeous people on the DVD even applaud for me at the end of that routine. Yay me!

Salsa time. Again, no problems. What I'm finding out here is that I'm an excellent dancer, and all around Zumba queen. Put some attitude into it? Why yes! Add more hips! I HAVE MORE HIPS FOR YOU.

Delighted with my success at these two steps, I thought the rest would also be a breeze. And then the instruction for the Samba started. They started off really slow, which okay, foot out, heel pivot, switch, foot out, heel pivot, switch. I'm awesome at Samba! Carnival, watch out!

And then they upped the speed. Add a little hop between steps and go faster. Okay, so wait, I still have this, I still have this...I don't have this at all. What the heck is going on with my feet? I'm doing foot out heel pivot kick myself in the opposite shin, hop, hop again, hop AGAIN to get back on the same foot as the girl in the bra-top and now I'm totally lost.

OMG - My Samba is starting to resemble my Irish Step Dancing. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

That segment over, I know I should go back and try it again, but I figure I'll just keep on going. I'm good at 2 out of 3 so far. And by good, I mean "good." What's up next? Oh! Reggaeton!

This is a cross between funk and reggae and hip-hop, so they tell me. And right away we're moving hands from side to side and I can do this! Suck it, Samba! Look at me go! I'm back to being a Zumba Queen! Oh wait, we're moving the legs. And now we're speeding it up and adding the arms.

Okay, I'm hanging with this! I'm hanging with this! Oh wait. Now we're marching. And shimmying. And now they are clapping under their marching legs. I, however, am slapping my thighs on each side like it's a ding-dang hoe-down. I'm bruising, and I'm getting sort of discouraged.

I am exceedingly happy I didn't just go to a live class.

The Flamenco wasn't too bad, although when making "strong arms" I did manage to almost put my own eye out with jabby attitudinal hand movements. And the final steps, from the Cumbia, were okay. I got those ones down without any bloodshed.

Samba and Reggaeton failures aside, I'm ready to move on to the advanced DVD. Let's hope that those routines are flexible enough to deal with a little random hopping. And also, possibly some Krunk stylings.

Posted by Jenny at 8:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Looking back into my foggy memories of the infant days with my kids, there are certain events that stand out. There are also quieter moments that are equally remarkable, but tend to blur together into a sensory tapestry. Greeting the dawn with a feverish, exhausted baby's head on your chest is one of those moments I've lived a dozen times. Maybe more. And yet no matter how tired I have been, or which kid it was, or what else was happening, there is that utter peace in knowing that for that child in your arms, there is no better place to be. Being held in my arms was what allowed them to finally rest, and to let go.

This weekend, my youngest, now quite a leggy if still petite seven-year-old, fell ill. Yes, despite getting both types of flu vaccinations, we all still got some sort of flu this last week. It hit her the hardest. From stumbling from her bed, only to vomit on the floor outside my bedroom door, to the fever that made her glassy-eyed and weak, she didn't rest well unless I was near. Finally, worried about her fever (and her inability to keep fever medicine down) I kept a vigil, sitting beside her restlessly sleeping little body on the couch. She woke in fits, and unlike when she was an infant, we ended up watching television together. After giggling our way through the Simpsons Movie, her fever spiked again, and she crawled into my arms.

And there it was again. I wrapped the memories around me like a quilt while she rested her flushed cheek in the crook of my neck. She drifted off to sleep, but I stayed awake. I matched my breathing to hers, and felt the world slip away.

Posted by Jenny at 5:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Help for Haiti

On January 7, 2010, a 4.1 earthquake struck Silicon Valley, and before the ground stopped shaking, twitter was abuzz with snarky comments from local area residents. Along with my co-workers, I laughed at the funny tweets, and sent a silent 'thank you' to whomever governs these seismic events. Instead of hysteria, we had hilarity.

Two more quakes, or aftershocks, occured over the next two days. Then, well north of us, on January 9, 2010, a 6.5 earthquake shook the town of Eureka, CA, knocking out power and breaking glass. Nerves were frayed, but there was no loss of life.

I joked about dipping into my meager stash of emergency food that week. But you know, it really isn't very funny at all.

Were we to suffer a major disaster that cut us off from resources, we'd be largely unprepared to survive for days without assistance. It's time to get my head out of the sand, and to prepare for the unthinkable. It may take us a while, but we need to start.

Any tips on good resources for how to attack this?

Posted by Jenny at 5:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)