The Ants Are Eating The Orange

We just got back from Parque Tres de Febrero with the kids. It was very beautiful. But damn, it's hot. 34 degrees. I don't know if this is usual for this time of year. I was expecting 22.

We found an old merry-go-round that was something right out of a David Lynch flick. It was made of old faded green and red wooden boards and crudely drawn imitations of Mickey and Minnie and Mighty, an overweight Jerry, and a variety of other blatantly disregarded copyrights.

The kids loved it. We paid 5 pesos to a guy sitting in a hot little shack next to the dilapidated coin-operated helicopters and airplanes and he got out and spun the wheel into motion and played eerie Argentinian pop while the kids circled round and round on a boat and then, a bus.

We stopped for jugo de manzana and Olive chased the birds. When she'd fall and I'd help her up, she'd say, "gracias" and "de nada." The locals watching her run around like a little hooligan thought this was rather amusing.

We saw rows of ants in the grass carrying sticks and leaves ten times their size. Holden fed them some of his orange.

He's speaking longer and longer sentences now. Today, I think was the record when he looked up and said: "The ants are eating the orange."

Then he stepped on them.

I blame the Ant Smasher App we used to keep him occupied on the plane.