Halala Mama

I was going to either type out a well written post about my crack like addiction to Diet Coke (seriously, what DO they put in that??) or what I am  learning from The Five Love Languages by Dr. Gary Chapman.  Was going to,  not am.

The Road to Blogging is paved with good intentions, but then laptop power  supplies go all hinky and haywire and said blogger is left hammering on her  husband’s computer’s keyboard.

Marital bliss it seems may not lie in understanding your spouse’s love languages but rather in having separate computers.

My laptop really belongs to my school and they graciously  allow me to bring it home at  night. It’s black, shiny and new.

Ismael’s computer was purchased second hand and I am wrestling withthis keyboard simply to get spaces to show up where they belong and to not delete too many letters when I make a mistake. The backspace key is overzealous and ADHD while the space  key is definitely oppositional defiant.

Giving up on doing any actual real work, I opened Firefox and to rot my brain to do important  research.  Where my computer has important shortcuts saved like Facebook and  Twitter, Ismael has hotmail, magicjack, French telelvision, the hollywood report and C-span.

Somehow in simply trying to open CNN I landed on Bonferey TV. My thoughts went something  like this:

….why does Firefox underline everything I type in red?  Oh yeah, Ismael has the language set  to  French. Now that is helpful.

…Okay…click on C-N-N.C-O …. no no no!!  French TV!

…No, no STOOOOOP.   GO back, go back, go back, why won’t this  tab close?

….why a pop up window?  Why is it trying to open  “dead  sea scrolls??”

….what … the … holy … hell… is …wrong …with …this …thing????

….and yes, of course,  now it is  locked up and the screen is blank white.

…ctrl….alt….where is the delete????

…wwaaaaahhhh….. I want my own computer  back.

At which point, I was so frustrated I went and did laundry because that was actually preferable to  using this  computer.

I can’t believe I  even typed those words.

So I’ll be on a blogging break for  a few days due to technical difficulties.

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I don’t send Ismael to the grocery often.

When I do, I write a careful detailed list and even organize it by the place in the store where it is located.  Dairy with dairy, veggies with fruits, etc.  I’m sure he gets to the store, starts with item #1 on that list, wanders around until he thinks he has everything, and then dashes out.

Two years ago on race day, I sent him with a simple list.  Hamburger, hamburger buns, watermelon, and a few other items I no longer recall.

What I recall is the phone call I received about ten minutes later.

“What do you mean buns?”

Huh?  We eat hamburgers in this house.  We eat hamburgers out.  We aren’t proud.  We aren’t steak people.  We eat hamburgers on buns.

I don’t know what he did in between the time I reintroduced him to American cuisine and the next phone call.  I assume he wandered around looking at shiny objects.  I really don’t know.

“What do you mean watermelon?”

“What do YOU mean, ‘what do I mean watermelon?’”

Who’s on first?

Again, not a new food to our diet.  I suspected he was playing me to avoid ever going to the store again.

Nice try, sucker.  When I was on bedrest, he had to take over the responsibility.  We have never eaten so strangely in our lives.  I’d carefully craft a complete list for the entire week, complete with the correct brand names.  Total waste of effort.  He literally bought one third of what was on the list and then decided we had enough for the entire week.

When Adam was born, we bought a membership to Sam’s Club in order to get the best deal on formula and diapers.  I learned quickly to go into that store with blinders on, run to the baby items, get what we need, and depart immediately.  Otherwise you find yourself in the check out line with a $200 bill and 3 pounds of lotion, 15 pounds of hamburger, and 3 gallons of Ragu, among other things you will throw away because you become sick of it before you could possibly use it up.

Last time I sent Ismael, he came home with formula (even the right kind).  Good, good.  And 24 croissants, 5 pounds of grapes, and a package of a billion individual wrapped servings of chips, which would be extremely helpful if we were running a lunch counter, but last time I checked there was no “Shorty’s Diner” posted on our apartment door.

So tonight, I sent Ismael off with a short list for formula and assorted jars of baby food after eating table food was interesting to Adam tonight for about 2.5 seconds and then it morphed into a major fail.

No phone calls yet.  I hope he doesn’t come home and declare that Adam is on a diet.

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