Martín y Hazel Frost Nuestra Vida en Argentina

Life's quite busy, I've got quite a few half-starting projects and ongoing things to think about, but my brain-cell's gone into weekend mode, so today's blog isn't going to be about any of it.

Today I bought my kid a ball. It's a plastic green thing, to make up for the several others that have been punctured by the dog's over-enthuseastic football-playing. It cost five pesos fifty, which is a bit less than a pound, so it won't matter too much if we soon have to buy another one. Joni loves it, we had to take it out in the car with us this afternoon, and he kept touching it and saying "that's for your birthday" (you and your are his favourite all purpose pronouns).

My first thought was "what evil parents we are that our kid thinks it must be his birthday because he's got new stuff".

My second thought was "fantastic, how many years can we keep this up?"

My third thought was "if we can raise a kid who doesn't need to measure his worth or our love by how much stuff he gets, then we'll be doing something right".

At the moment he's only two, and we don't have a TV, so the hard bit's going to come later. Just to show that we're not perfect parents (in case you don't know us very well) this evening, he put a plastic bucket over my head and announced "Mummy, you're a Dalek"! He watches Dr Who back-episodes on Daddy's lap, and he loves it. Like father like son.