9/10/01 was the night I found out I was pregnant with our first child.

9/11/01 was the morning I confirmed it.

I remember peeing on the stick, jumping up and down in my bathroom like a loon.

Again.

I'd already done it once the night before. Called my mother and danced around my husband, waving the pee-soaked stick in his face. But this test was blazing, dark and screaming, "No really, you're totally knocked up!" So the flail was justified, I'd say.

Then I came upstairs and made a cup of coffee. Hush, it's totally fine in moderation!

And then... I sat on the couch and turned on the Today Show.

And the bottom fell out.

I think we all know how it felt that morning. Shock. Disbelief. Awe. Anger. Sadness.

I prepared for work in something of a daze. Took my usual walk through the park and into Waikiki, toward the office. Even five thousand plus miles from Ground Zero, you could feel it in the air. The shared looks of disbelief between total strangers as we waited for a traffic light to change. Halted starts of conversations. What did you even say? How did you put into words something so awful? How do you describe your utter horror that another human being is capable of such evil deeds? But we all knew. Words weren't necessary.

The world would never be the same.

I arrived at the office and sat at my desk, still feeling numb. I checked my email. Baby Center had sent me a message.

"Congratulations, if all went to plan you are now four weeks pregnant!"

I lost it. I bawled at my desk, heaving sobs of sadness. For all the lives lost and still to be lost. For the ones left behind. And for the child inside of me who was to be born into this crazy world.

What the hell was I thinking?

It took a few minutes but I composed myself. Took myself down to the local bar that served as a hang out for all the other people who worked in the building.

No, I didn't have a drink. I'm not that bad. Sheesh!

We all sat and talked. Expressed our disbelief and outrage, shook our heads and kept our eyes glued to the images playing on the screen.

And then my Mom showed up with an arrangement of flowers. "Congratulations!" she beamed. And everyone knew I was pregnant. The heavy ball of coiled up apprehension and dread lifted. In one fell swoop, my mother had managed to spoil the surprise for pretty much everyone in my entire social circle. I'd felt guilty about the moments of pure joy that randomly inserted themselves into the midst of this surreal day.

There were hugs and high-fives, cheers and for the first time that day... smiles.

The world would never be the same. But some things never change.

I will never forget. But we must never surrender. 

Life goes on.

I'm lazy. So I'm copy and pasting. Pretend it's already Tuesday.

"My Rib is awesome. She started this weekly series Tune in Tuesdays where you share a music video you love. I decided to join in. This is this week's pick."

They are local. They need to be shared. They need to be signed.

For lack of anything else to write about, and in need of getting the juices flowing (or at least dribbling), I present to you a partial bucket list.

5 Random things that I need to do before I die and why:

Join a campaign. 

Told you it was random. 

"Why?" You might ask. And it would be a good question considering I'm not a citizen of this country and cannot therefore vote. But I still care. I might not be a citizen of this country but I am a resident so I do care. A lot. America has been my home since I was 15. I may miss Australia, I may have some strange attachment to Oz that keeps me from giving up my citizenship and becoming a citizen of the US, but why shouldn't I? Care, that is.

People have ranted to me (using the anonymity of the internet, of course) about how I don't have a right to complain if I'm not a citizen and don't vote. That I should quit with all my political posts and liberal ravings. 

But you know what? Fuck that shit! I pay my taxes, I support our troops, I love my husband and kids who are all born and bred "Yanks". I have every right as a permanent resident that a citizen does, except voting rights. 

So, maybe that's something that I can do. 

Watch Gilmore Girls from start to finish.

"Huh?", you say.

Again. Random.

My "Rib", Nic got me started on this show and I never finished it. 

I love the characters. I love Rory, with all her perfectionist tendencies. I love Lorelei, for her love of coffee and her drive to be more. I love the mother. She's mine, only better dressed. I love the town, the stories, the 90s music and book references. I love it all. 

And yet... I find it hard to keep watching the show. I watch it in fits and spurts and I always enjoy it when I do. I still find myself not going back to continue after a ten hour marathon viewing. It can be months in between these attempts. It confuses me. 

I'm usually such a TV whore. One day I will finish it.

Fire a gun.

What's that I hear? The sound of all my friends and family collectively gasping and falling to the floor in shock?

Yes, I am strongly, morally opposed to guns in the hands of untrained citizens. Yes, I think semi or fully automatic weapons should be outlawed for anybody but a solider or cop on in the line of duty. No, I don't think it's a basic human right and I think they do more harm than good. You will never see one in my house.

That being said. I really wanna pull a trigger. Just once. Maybe a couple times. It looks like fun.

Visit Paris.

(Or travel Europe in general.) 

I've been to tropical places. Thailand, Singapore, Fiji.

And Chris has been to Europe.

We are at a stalemate. He wants tropical, I want historical. I want fresh Parisian baked goods and a fine red wine. A tour through the Louvre, and a walk down Champs Elysees. He wants sex on the beach. Of both varieties. I want to wander through the ruins of a Scottish castle, he'd rather sleep away a week in air conditioned bliss. I want to drink a German Pilsner in a cheesy, touristy, ale house. He'd probably be up for that, but he's done it before. 

So you see, we have a problem here. I think I need a girlfriend vacation. I think I need the money to actually make it happen. 

Skydive.

My godmother was a sky-diver. Professionally. When Czechoslovakia was still Czechoslovakia they had a team and her and her husband, before they escaped, were on it. I have heard stories of how incredible it was. Of the overwhelming fear and the exhilarating freedom. I also heard god-awful stories of how people so horrified by their life in the former communist state, plunged to their deaths by way of skydiving. Just not pulling the chute. And amazing stories of courage. People skydiving their way over the border and to freedom. We always said we would do it together. We never did. 

Someday. 

So, there you have it. Five things that came to mind when I asked myself what I would like to do before I die. 

I am not blocked... yet.

But I very well could be if I don't sit my ass down, open up Word, and just fucking write something already.

It's been three days of stop and start. A hundred words here, fifty there. A short burst where I wrote five hundred and felt great. Back to staring at the blinking cursor for an hour.

It's insidious and self-fulfilling. I see it and yet I can't stop it.

I have an outline. Know what I want to write and in what order. And yet...

I think I'll give the dog a bath. The house is dirty. I need more coffee. I really should paint my finger nails. And my toes. I need more coffee. I need to feed my kids. I need to talk to Chris. God, my legs are hairy. I should shave. I have to pay the ticket that I didn't even know I got while I was in Australia. I need more coffee.

So. 

The dog is clean. The house is clean. The kids are fed and my nails are pretty. I chatted to Chris, he pissed me off. My legs are gloriously hair-free and those ass-hat toll people in Sydney (who hit me up for a fee, for the two seconds I was on a toll-way and didn't know it), have been paid. 

I should go write.

But first, I really have to pee... 

It's the coffee.