Mind you, moose bites can be pretty nasty

So I'm posting a quickie before I head out of town for a few days.
I got up much earlier than I really needed to today, to putter around the house and tie up some loose ends (you know, like pay bills, feed the dogs, lecture The Boy, etc.). Had to renew my driver's license, and drop off an auto insurance payment that somehow got missed (not late yet!). Got side-tracked at B&Ndotcom and used an online coupon to save some money on items I might-or-might not really need. Found my swimsuit and hope it still fits. Plans include commencement of drinking at an insanely early hour and a crispy sunburn as penance.
Recently in the obits was a memorial to two young boys, brothers, who died roughly two years apart. I didn't do the math, but the pictures show teenagers about the age of my own son. I thought, oh that poor mother. How would it be to loose your son? One is bad enough, but two? So close together? What would I do without my little guy? And it made me think of Catherine and her two angels. How on earth can one soul bear such a burden? And how do you qualify something such as that? Is it better or just as bad to have lost children you didn't get to nurture and enjoy compared to having had at least some time with your kids? Most likely, there is no comparison, as both scenarios have their own special sorrows. And it just makes me sad. That's all there is. Nothing I can do, because wondering "why" hasn't done shit to bring any of our babies back to us, where they belong. Maybe more mad than sad, really, but then I just get pissed off and bitter and so far that hasn't gotten me very far. I'm trying to shed some hatred for the upcoming fall season. That is so last year.
So our actual vacation vacation has been sidelined on account of The Boy's football camp inconveniently scheduled on the exact dates we had planned to be in Virginia Beach. His coach is an inconsiderate ass. And to think we had full use of my parents' place while they are enjoying a family reunion in South Dakota, followed by the other side's impromptu get together in Oklahoma. Awww, and I have to miss it all. Sniffle. You wouldn't believe the wrangling I had to do to procure that particular week off (new job and all). So, we won't tell them I'm no longer "going" anywhere, and I'll still have 9 days to work on my alcohol content. Oh and possibly clean the house or something. Yeah that's the plan. Snicker. Actually, if she doesn't bail, Miss Catherine and I do have plans in the works for some retail therapy and time away from it all, if only a day or two. See how nicely things work out sometimes? We deserve this. The only suffering had shall be the vacant echoes moaning from our depleted pocketbooks, and our guys at home who surely will be missing us greatly.
CD38, still no period, and if there are any tell-tale signs of supposed symptoms, I'm at a loss to notice them anymore. My little dare to the universe did not pay off, as I did not ride the tide as expected immediately after proclaiming a wry "maybe" in my mind. And no, I will not be peeing on any sticks. This is just another one of those fuck-yous from beyond. I'll probably start the provera/clomid combo (or just go straight to the clomid chaser if Dr. Wonderful says so) in September or October or never or whatever. Too ambivalent to plan now.
The Hubster is on a brief hiatus from work currently, and is doing a bang-up job of keeping the daily chores in check. Would you believe me if I told you that every-single-item-of-laundry in this house is clean, right now? All at once? Folded and put away, even. I am awestruck by this man's efficiency. Not to turn you on or anything, but he even vacuums. Daily. Well he did miss that one day because he mowed and weed-whacked and raked and bagged all the clippings, and tended to our teeny little vegetable garden. The man certainly needs more oral.
I simply must get going, however, as I am late for an oil change and rotation of the tires and such. TT4N.