13 weeks

Here I am at 13 weeks pregnant, followed by a candid shot of the baby lazing about at 12 weeks, healthy as can be.





We don't find out the sex for another month or so, but judging from those skinny legs, I'm guessing that we're having a marionette. It's too soon to tell, of course, so don't start sending us felt clothes and lemon oil.

Mallons: The Lost Episodes, Part 2

Well, now that October is upon us, I suppose I should wrap up the summer blogging.

Darrick celebrated Fourth of July over at the Brokaws. I had to work, so I stayed home with Alexander. Apparently, little Lauren Brokaw kept asking where Alexander was, so next time we'll have to bring him along. Next time we'll have to bring me along.

It looks like they all had a great time.



Although I hope the kids were in bed before the phallic fireworks show started.






Alexander did end up going over to hang out with Lauren. Always the gallant gentleman, he pulled her around in her ride and let her wear his hat.




In fact, it's safe to say that for Alexander, this summer was all about the ladies.






A high point for all of us was Aunt Christine and Uncle Jim's visit. We went to Bookman's, met cousins Tom, Em, and Brenna out at Red Rock, and hung out in our uncomfortable house, basking in the wonders of evaporative cooling in the middle of an unusually humid July.



Alexander got them to model the latest in collapsed tunnel neckwear.



And was rewarded with much tickling and play.

Return of Baby Mallon

We interrupt the irregularly scheduled blogging to bring you this special announcement.

Since his premiere, Alexander has brought us thrills, chills, and lots of laughs and love.

We decided that he was so much fun, we would have to make a sequel someday. Well, guess what?



That's right, Baby Mallon Part 2 is in post-production, scheduled for release on May 17, 2010. (Initial screenings will be limited to the Tucson area.)

Mallons: The Lost Episodes, Part 1

We've been busy this summer, so here is part 1 of our adventures staying at home, making everyone come to us.

Over Fourth of July weekend, Mom and Tom, known in certain elite circles as Nana and Papa, came to visit. There was much playing and interpretive dance. Even the dingo was at ease.





They came bearing gifts, like cars, a cool mat to play with them on, and some sweet shades.





And a Cars clock that lights up, which Alexander adores.



Word.



I'm pretty sure he feels his pad is almost complete. It needs some purple crayon on the walls, maybe, but otherwise, just right.



We spent some time at Reid Park, where Alexander gleefully stormed the jungle gym.





On Sunday, we went to Breaker's Water Park, and lo and behold! Uncle Ronnie and Aunt Linda from Georgia, and cousins Tom, Emily, and Brenna from Apache Junction just happened to be there at the same time. Look, here we are bumping into each other completely by coincidence after choosing the exact same place to stand. And someone who looked EXACTLY like my mom happened to snap a candid photo. Can you believe it?



We had a blast. It was really nice of them to drive down to meet us there. Brenna seemed to have a good time in the water and kicking back in the shade.




Alexander, it seems, really likes water parks. We'll definitely be taking him back.







Wait for it . . .





Coming soon (relatively), Alexander finds love, fireworks, and Aunt Christine and Uncle Jim's visit.

Emergency Room Mother's Day 40th Birthday Dance Party Week

Alexander had his first trip to the emergency room last week. (Well, technically not his first trip--Emergency room, parks, climbing). While getting ready for bed, he was jumping around in his room and he slipped on a book, which sent him directly into the hard edge of the portable stereo on the floor. (Darrick described it to the nurse as a boom box, and she had no idea what he was talking about. "You know," he might as well have said. "A phonograph.")

Alex wanted to run around and play, despite the blood gushing from the gash in his left eyebrow. Unfortunately, we had rushed out without putting socks and shoes on him, so we were stuck trying to keep him happy in our arms, in the chair, and on the bed (once they admitted him to the back). After he managed to break this metal bar sticking up from the bed, we tried putting surgical gloves on his feet so he could walk around, but he wasn't pleased with these new socks. Next time (and I hate to admit it, but there will probably be a next time), I'm bringing the camera to the ER.

Because the gash was above the eye, the doctor was going to give Alexander stitches, but he debated using glue, so Darrick took that as an opening. "Are you sure you can't use glue?" He wasn't trying to rush the boy's care. When Darrick was Alex's age, he pulled his stitches out and had to go back in for new ones, and now he was worried that Alexander would do the same. The doctor agreed to the glue.

So Darrick and I held the poor kid down (I felt just awful doing this, thinking he must have felt so betrayed by both of us), and he got the numbing solution, then the glue, and then the tape to help hold it closed.

The injury has had no effect on the kid's energy level or his safety precautions:



(Yes, Rachel. There's that dingo again.)

He was doing fine on Mother's Day, so we all walked up to Bookmans, where we traded some magazines for books for me, a game for Darrick, and a stuffed iguana for Alexander. Thanks to Alex's kids' club membership and Bookmans' Mother's Day discount, we didn't end up paying a cent. We had lunch at the Golden Dragon, then headed home, where we collapsed after walking in the heat (upper 90s, perhaps over 100).




And as if that wasn't enough excitement for one week, the next day, we celebrated Darrick's 40th birthday. In the morning, Alexander and I walked over to Albertson's for cake mix and frosting, and I surprised Darrick by actually baking a cake for him. A real, adult-size devil's food with chocolate fudge frosting bundt cake. And it was good, still moist yesterday, after three days. I'm more surprised by this than he is. Of course, I did forget to take it off the cooling rack before frosting it, and when I tried to move it, I broke it in half, but that was nothing a little extra frosting wouldn't fix.



Alexander insisted on helping blow out the candle, so we relit it several times before Darrick managed to blow it out before the boy.




Then Darrick let Alexander have the candle. Until Alex started using it has a spoon to scoop up more frosting. Nice try, kid.



All the Over the Hill stuff at the party store was so dumb and clichéd that I went with the blinking lips instead. This turned out to be an excellent decision.




The next day, Alexander woke up early to wreak havoc on the play room, then dance among the debris. This is one boy who does not fear the apocalypse.

Please ignore the carpet. When Alex covered himself in Vaseline, he got it all over the carpet, and that just attracted dirt that we can't get out. At least it's just a remnant.

What a week. 

First, Alexander got glasses.

Then last Friday, I was one of a very few select adults honored to sit in the back of the room at Foster's sixteenth birthday party at the Doubletree. I put on a dress. And those shoes with stilts. I'm not even a trained circus performer.

And today, we went to the family and family friends party for Fos at Agua Caliente Park, which turned out to be one of the most beautiful parks in Tucson. Very lush. It has a hot spring (hence the name) that feeds a couple (more?) ponds with seriously big fish in them. The palm trees are numerous and huge.

Here's the birthday girl, just hanging out, being sixteen, while Ann ponders her granddaughter's sixteenness. Then there's Troy. So anyway . . .

Lots of people brought dogs, but Neosha was a true sweetie, patiently letting Alexander pet her, perhaps also pondering Foster's whole aura of XVI (fun fact: dogs think in roman numerals).

 

Alexander loved all the ducks. They were everywhere. I'm still shaking them out of my shoes. Worse than sand from the beach. Geesh.


But more than ducks, the boy loves water.

I mean, he really loves water. We pretty much spent the entire time running after him to pull him away from the water. He managed to jump in a few times. So next time, we'll come dressed for him (and us) to go into the water a little farther. I really wanted to just let him go, but I wasn't dressed to go in with him, and we weren't sure about the water depth.


The true mark of a good time: pure exhaustion.

Mogo

Alexander loves water. He calls it mogo.





No. I mean he really loves water.



It makes him want to dance.



If he doesn't have water, he'll imagine it.



It's eerie how well he imitates the way I water the rug and his dad waters the drains and the cats.

When life gives you Mount Lemmon

The weekend before last (or a few days ago in Melanie Standard Blogging Time), we spent Saturday picnicking on Mount Lemmon with friends.





The site was beautiful, with a great view



and, to Alexander's delight, a little creek.



Some disembodied snowman parts were scattered about despite the sun. Ben, Alexander, and Darrick attempted artificial limb procedures with minimal success.



Alexander remembered his notebook, of course. He carries a notebook everywhere these days. He fills them with drawings (Daddy, puppy, eyes) and the letter O. The pages with scribbles are likely code for his plans and ideas regarding snacks; things to put on his head, in his mouth, or both; and world domination using an army of dogs.



We ate, drank, ran around, poked sticks in things, threw and kicked a ball around, and threw things at each other.



Alexander and Lauren experienced the customary game of pass the child.





But I was glad to get my little guy back.



The older girls climbed as far as possible from the rest of us freaks, no doubt talking about electrical engineering or whatever the kids are into these days.

Trees and nuts

We bought some fruit trees for our backyard. There's a little nursery next to our vet with very reasonable prices. An old German guy who got his degree in philosophy from Texas A&M runs it.

We bought a peach tree




And a pear tree




And an apple:



After helping his dad plant the trees, Alexander celebrated. He's got this weird thing with putting objects on his head: buckets, lampshades, various articles of clothing that have one thing in common: they aren't hats.





Then he spent some time using the sink for his workout. He's getting buff.



Yes, lamest blog ever. After the armpit entry, I figured I could phone this one in and it would still be an improvement.

Hair of the Blog Contest

Those of you with weak stomachs or simply a smidgen of class, please turn away. Read no further. Look no further.



















Seriously, stop scrolling unless you are truly prepared for the big hairy monster at the end of this blog. Do you need a warning from Grover?







Fine. It's your choice. But my lawyers insist on a disclaimer:

I cannot be held responsible for any nightmares, psychotic breaks, projectile vomiting, compulsive shaving of strangers, or complete loss of respect for me that may ensue after you see the following graphic images.


OK, let me begin with the backstory. Rachel decided to have a little contest. See the full description and rules here.

Participants chose a body part to enter, removed the hair completely from said body part, then proceeded to let hair grow unhampered, wild, and free for the next three weeks. We were to provide weekly updates on our blogs or send our photos to Rachel. I opted for the latter because I knew I wouldn't have time to blog on it as required. Actually, I realized that if I managed to blog about my hair growth every week, you all might expect me to blog about Alexander that frequently. I just couldn't risk setting the bar that high. I've got work to do (on Facebook).

Anyway, I did promise to blog at the end of the contest, which is tomorrow, so here, for your viewing disgust and dismay, is my entry in the Hair of the Blog contest, starting with week 1.

I call it Chia Pit.

My first photo:



After a week, I was a bit worried. How could I compete with the sasquatches that had entered this contest? No offense, ladies (and Rachel).



(Yes, he had a nose job during that first week. He's kind of sensitive about it, so please keep your comments to yourself.)

By week two, I realized I needed to do something to coax more hair out. I tried a drip irrigation system, fertilizer, Rogaine, a snake charmer, and I even considered applying a hairpiece:



And now, after three weeks, I can actually see enough to tie in a knot. If I had really small fingers.



Now I know what you're thinking (if you are not too stunned by this inanity to think): I don't stand a chance. My hair growth is paltry. Most of you probably had babies born with more hair than this. I am, in fact, eating a peach at this very moment that sports more growth than my poor, sparse pit. To win this contest, I would need to somehow convince everyone that they do indeed see, in my pit, something like this:




But here's the thing: The contest winner is the one who gets the most VOTES. There will be no official data collection, no measurement of hair, no shave-and-weigh. All I need to do to win is convince all of you (and by extension, everyone you know who has a strong stomach) to vote for me.

So, tomorrow or over the weekend, please go to Rachel's blog and vote for me and my Chia Pit.

A vote for me is a vote for the underdog. And the underarm. Really, you just can't go wrong. Except that I shouldn't win. Really. I mean, go look at the Cousin Its in this contest. Then vote for me anyway.