Neopets and my prison pen pal.

I am an elder millennial. My brother, born six  years after me, is a young millennial. One of the key differences is technology. For example, I read an article by an elder millennial saying that "the thought of learning Snapchat makes me want to take a long, peaceful nap," and I FEEL that. My brother, on the other hand, is an avid Snapchatter. 

Elder millennials have very clear memories of the days before the internet. We got an internet connection at my house when I was 13 years old. Sure, we had the internet at school, but my formative years were spent largely without it. 

When we did get the internet, it was the year 2000. I went hog wild - or as hog wild as a dorky 13-year-old would go. I stayed up late chatting away on MSN Messenger. I spent hours waiting for terrible early YouTube videos to load (it was dial-up, after all). I joined a Simon and Garfunkel chat room and met one of my dearest friends (her name is Sue, and we have now been friends for 22 years). 

And then there was Neopets.

Neopets was (is?) a site where you could "adopt" a virtual pet - they were all made-up animals that you could name and put clothes on and "paint" them different colors. You had to play games on the site to earn points to "buy" the clothes and whatever else. I cringe when I think of how much time I spent on that stupid website. I don't remember what my Neopets' names were, but I know you could have four per account. I had a variety over the years, but I know I had some iteration of these four:

  

  

(these are all examples of how you could "paint" them.)

I could go on about the ins and outs of the Neo-world, but that's not what this post is actually about.

(If you also played Neopets in the early 2000s, check out this article for a trip down memory lane: https://www.buzzfeed.com/impossiblynikki/things-only-people-who-played-neopets-will-remembe-9lrzxccruu )

It's about meeting an accused murderer on Neopets.

OH YEAH you read that right.

Neopets had a chat board where you could post about anything you wanted. You could ask for advice on how to beat a game, offer to trade paintbrushes to customize your pets, or just say hello. I don't remember what exactly I posted - as this was 23 years ago - but someone named Shannon answered my post.

Neopets had "Neomail" where users could exchange private messages through the website. Shannon and I started chatting through Neomail and eventually graduated to MSN Messenger. She was friendly, interested in a lot of the same things I was interested in, and willing to listen to what I had to say.

Shannon was in her mid-20s and had a girlfriend named Tasha. I don't remember what either of them did for a living, but I do remember they were both super into Neopets. 

And then things got weird.

One day, Shannon told me she'd be going away for a while. My 13-year-old brain did not comprehend quite what she was saying; I thought maybe she was going on a trip. So I was all like "cool where are you going" and she was all like "federal prison."

...

I wish I could remember what exactly I said. Thankfully, this conversation was over MSN Messenger, which bought me a little time to compose something a little compassionate. I do know I asked her to tell me what happened if she was comfortable, and she said she was tangled up in a bad crowd several years back and someone was murdered. She ended up being charged as an accessory and sentenced to several years in a North Carolina prison.

"Will you write to me?" she asked.

"Of course," I said, because what do you say when your internet friend tells you she's going to prison and wants to get letters.

I wrote her a time or two, but my teenage life wasn't particularly set up for bouts of letter-writing. Online chatting and sending short messages through Neomail I could handle, but this was somehow too much. Also the reality of it - when I mailed a letter to an actually prison - really kind of shook me. I was 13, after all.

The letter writing ended unceremoniously when a letter arrived for me bearing the return address for a penitentiary along with an inmate number... and my parents got the mail that day. Mom and Dad didn't tell me I had to stop, but I felt like this was more than I could handle. So I ghosted my prison pen pal. Decades later, I do feel bad about that. 

So that's how Neopets gave me a short-lived prison pen pal. 

36 weeks.

Hey there, baby.

We did it.

We made it to 36 weeks. You are now full-term.

That's not a huge deal to a lot of pregnant people, but it's a huge deal to me.

Your older brother Phineas was born at 35 weeks and 5 days. He spent a month in the NICU at the very beginning of the COVID shutdown. The NICU nurses were wonderful, but your dad James and I couldn't be in there with Phineas at the same time. Your grandparents couldn't hold him. Our friends couldn't meet him.

Your sister passed away before eight weeks.

Between those two events, I was pretty nervous about this pregnancy.

Your dad and I breathed a sigh of relief when we saw your heartbeat at eight weeks.

We breathed another sigh of relief when your genetic testing came back normal at 12 weeks. Between the miscarriage and my "advanced maternal age," we were so happy that everything that could go wrong didn't go wrong.

At 20 weeks, we found out you had a single-vessel umbilical cord, which could have been bad news for many things, including your heart and kidneys. At a 22-week detailed scan, we found out everything was fine. Another sigh of relief. 

Phineas was born early because I developed gestational high blood pressure. As the weeks crept on, my blood pressure stayed where it should be. Yet another sigh of relief - good blood pressure meant a premature birth was less likely.

But guess what I got instead? Gestational elevated blood sugar. This could have meant you would get too big too fast and have to be born early and/or via C-section. 

You've been a good size so far, though. However, we're not out of the C-section woods yet. At the 20 week scan, we also found out the placenta was low-lying. That means it may or may not block the cervix - if it does, I would have to have a C-section for fear of us both bleeding to death. 

All that aside - we still made it to 36 weeks. 

Because of my history of gestational hypertension, I'll be induced at 37 weeks.

See you next week, baby. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

my grandma Sheila.

You know how some people are just meant to be certain things? Like this person was meant to be a nurse and this person was meant to be a teacher?

My grandma Sheila was meant to be a grandma.

Her picture is probably next to the word “grandma” in the dictionary.

She was only 56 when I was born, but she’s been a little old lady in my entire memory. White hair, 4’11”, big smile, twinkly blue eyes.

If you lived in or around Arlington from 1931 to 2019ish, you probably knew Sheila. Grandma Sheila did a lot of things in her life - 92 years, after all - but among my peers, her legacy lies in the Arlington school lunchroom. 

Grandma Sheila worked as a lunch lady for years - she was there when I began kindergarten and there when I graduated high school. Her spot was at the dishwasher window. Kids would bring their dishes to the window, and Grandma would greet each and every one of them by name. 

It is a complete mystery to me how she managed to remember the names of hundreds of kids over decades, but she did it.

When I started school, it didn't take long for word to spread the sweet lady at the dishwasher window was my grandma. 

No joke, I became famous by association.

Grandma Sheila passed away earlier this week, and the messages we've been getting are absolutely heartwarming. There are countless notes about how she made someone's day in the lunchroom with her smile; how she always made you feel like you were the most special person in the world. 

When you lose a grandparent, people understand - many of us have lost grandparents, after all. Grandma Sheila passing away has been different. When my other grandparents passed away, people would say things like "I'm so sorry" and "losing a grandparent is hard," which are absolutely fine things to say. But this time, people say, "I'm so sorry! I remember how she used to give me a big hug every time she saw me" or "her smile lit up a room." Everyone knew my grandma, and she knew them. She was everyone's grandma, and how neat is it for us (her kids and grandkids) to hear from all these people with fond memories.

I have no memories of my grandma without a smile on her face. To my knowledge, I have only truly disappointed her one time: by failing to give her a red-haired great-grandchild. She loved Phineas, but the first time she met him, she said, “Oh, I really wanted a redhead!” But with a smile.

the first time they met

Phineas loved her, too. He asked about "gweat gwamma" fairly often, and he was thrilled to see her at family gatherings. Phineas is only three, but I hope he'll have some memories of her. I have an overwhelming sadness that our second child will never meet her, but I also have confidence we've got plenty of stories to paint a picture of who she was.

four generations.

Every year, Grandma Sheila sent birthday cards to everyone she knew who shared her birthday. 

As my dad likes to say, she turned her cinnamon bread into currency. She lived in the small town of Badger, SD for about 25 years, and she paid the guys at the gas station a block away in treats.

When I went to college, she gave me a "magic cookie tin." I was to bring that cookie tin back with me every time I visited home, and it would "magically" refill with cookies.

When I myself am a little old lady, I hope I can be like Grandma Sheila. I trend more towards the “better not go near her house; she’s probably a witch” old lady vibe (which honestly sounds kind of great), but Grandma Sheila was certainly the “oh I love her, she’s always so sweet and has treats” type of old lady. Something to aspire to.

At the end, it doesn’t matter how much money you have or where you’ve been. All that really counts is how you’ve treated people. You would be hard-pressed to find someone who knew my grandma who didn’t feel loved by her. She made everyone feel special, no matter how short the interaction. Even if you met her just once, she remembered you.

myths about atheists.

Atheists have a bad reputation. When James and I first moved to town ten years ago, one of the first questions we'd get asked was "what church do you go to?" You should've seen the looks we got when the answer was "none." We didn't even say we were atheists - just that we didn't to go church.

In the interim years, I've had a baby and am about to have another one. My casual atheism has become something more serious as James and I discuss how we're going to raise them. 

The answer: as good people, but not in church.

James and I are not vehemently opposed to religion and church. We'll go to church with my parents, especially because my dad keeps luring James there with promises of trumpet-playing. (James will do anything if he gets to play trumpet.) If Phineas tells us someday he wants to try church, we'll take him. But we're not going to force our kids into something we don't believe ourselves.

Didn't even believe it back then.

I could talk forever about why and how I arrived at the conclusions I did. But that's not why I'm writing this post. It's about that bad reputation I mentioned. 

I read somewhere that a huge majority of Americans would not consider voting for a political candidate who identifies as an atheist. 

And that's really a shame, because all the atheists I know are super good people.

I can speak only for myself, but allow me to debunk some common myths about atheists. 

Atheists believe life is meaningless.

On the contrary. I believe we get one life to live and when it's over, it's over. That means we only have one chance to live life to the fullest, appreciate our loved ones, and do good things for the world around us. But not all atheists believe there's no existence after this life - like I said, I can only speak for myself.

Atheists are not spiritual.

Some of the most spiritual people I know are atheists. This is quite common, but I feel most at peace when I'm in nature - specifically in/on/near the water. There's a profound sense of calm and wonder that washes over me. To some, this is equivalent to the presence of God. For me, it's becoming immersed in the beauty around us and stopping to take it all in.

Atheists don't know anything about religion.

Almost every atheist I know grew up going to church. My parents brought me to church every Sunday from the beginning of my memory. I was the kid with perfect attendance at Sunday school. I went through confirmation and ended up teaching Sunday school myself. I've read the whole Bible. The more I learned about the Bible and Christianity, the deeper my doubts became. It took me until my late 20s to truly consider myself an atheist, but I had years' worth of information leading up to that point.

Atheists hate religion.

As long as your religion isn't hurting anyone, I am completely fine with it. I will also respect your religion when I'm on your territory - if I'm visiting a mosque, I'll cover my head. If I'm visiting a church, I'll stand up and sit down when I'm supposed to. I do have a problem with religion when it's used as an exclusionary tool or as a way to suppress any one person or group of people. Same goes for the Bible. It's all fine until it's used as a weapon. 

Atheists have no basis for morality/aren't good people.

One of the more common questions atheists get is "if you don't believe in God, what stops you from stealing, murdering, etc?" Penn Jillette said it best - I'm paraphrasing, but he essentially said he murders as much as he wants - which is not at all. If a person doesn't understand why murdering is wrong, there's no amount of religion that can fix that. You don't have to believe in God to be a good person. As an atheist, I do good things because I want to - not because it will get me into heaven.

-----

Those are the myths. Here is the most important truth about atheists:

While we don't have faith in unseen deities, we do have faith in our fellow human beings. To live as a person in this world, I think you need to have faith in each other - God or no God. If we don't have faith in each other, what do we have that is worth having?

Midwesterners and their clothes.

Midwesterners are kind of hilarious about their clothes.

Compliment someone from on their Midwest on their shirt and see what happens.

Chances are you'll get one of three responses:

"Thanks! I got it for $2!"

(note: a Midwesterner will never brag about how expensive something they are wearing is, but they WILL brag about how little they paid for it.)

"Thanks! I got it in Maine!"

(note: Midwesterners gladly will tell you about the origin of their clothing if it is somewhere interesting and/or inexpensive, ie, Target.)

(When they go on vacation, my parents like to wear their shirts that say "South Dakota" or "Minnesota Twins" or whatever in hopes of sparking conversation with a stranger who is either also from the Midwest or has an affinity for the Midwest.)

"Thanks! My sister gave it to me!"

(note: Midwesterners are quick to give credit where credit is due, especially when it comes to clothing choices.)

Here's what you will NEVER hear:

"Thanks."

As a Midwesterner, I too am guilty of this. Something just feels wrong about simply taking the compliment. It's ingrained in our DNA to elaborate. Just thinking about this fictional interaction ending right at "thanks" is making me a little uncomfortable.

If complimenting someone on a dress or a skirt, you may hear "Thanks! It has pockets." This is not unique to the Midwest - you will garner this response from anyone in a skirt or a dress that has previously suffered through pocket-less or pathetically pocketed garments. There's nothing like making a move to put something in your pants pocket only to discover THERE IS NO PANTS POCKET.

Or if the pocket is there, it may not be deep enough to fit anything larger than a Chapstick. If that.

My three-year-old's clothing has deeper and more plentiful pockets than my clothing.

It did when he was a TINY BABY, too.

WHAT DOES A TINY BABY NEED TO CARRY AROUND THAT I DON'T.

Anyway.

Back to Midwesterners.

My clothing is almost exclusively from two types of places: consignment/secondhand stores and small businesses. Compliment me on whatever I'm wearing, and I'll tell you which one. 

At this exact moment in time, here's the rundown:

shirt: secondhand

skirt: secondhand

shoes: small business

bracelet: small business

ring: I made

earrings: I made

necklace: I made

Honestly, it's going to be pretty much the same on any given day. Just switch the order around.

This is part through conscious effort, part through me being cheap. Over the last four years, I've been pregnant three times, resulting in one three-year-old and another baby due in just a couple of months. 

This means four plus years of no consistent clothing size. 

If you're buying new stuff all the time to try and maintain some sort of functioning closet, that adds up FAST. 

It adds up even faster if you need clothes for different situations, such as workwear.

I am obviously not buying all new stuff. During my first pregnancy, I bought a couple of brand-new pairs of maternity jeans from Target, so they were like $25 apiece. I was ANNOYED spending THAT MUCH MONEY on items of clothing that I really didn't want in the first place but knew I needed... but worst of all, knew I wasn't going to use in the long-haul. 

During this pregnancy, I was annoyed again at the prospect of purchasing maternity shorts and swimwear (as my previous pregnancy seasons didn't line up with this one). But then it hit me - swimsuits are stretchy for a REASON. I just bought a cheap one from Amazon in a size bigger than usual, which should serve me well in the coming years. I got maternity shorts from a consignment site called ThredUP.

Overall, I kind of think maternity clothes are a scam. Jeans, maybe not. There's no way I'm going to find a pair of regular jeans that fits me, no matter what size I choose. I do have some ultra-stretchy shorts that will work, though, and the aforementioned swimsuit. I also have plenty of elastic-waisted skirts and dresses that will see me through to the end and beyond. Almost no special maternity clothes necessary.

This is thanks in no small part to oversized/flowy clothing being more in style for the past handful of years. If I had been pregnant during the late 90s to mid 2000s with the short shirts and the low-rise jeans, I most certainly wouldn't be able to rely on anything I already had. Thankfully (for many reasons), the tide has turned.

That was kind of a long aside, but I have switched to purchasing more secondhand not just because of my fluctuating clothing needs, but because it's not only better for the environment, but because I can find clothing I like more at a better price than I can in your run-of-the-mill mall store.

I also do my best to shop at small businesses because they are just that: small businesses. When you buy from a small business, you're helping someone fulfill their dream. You're buying from a real person. When you buy from Amazon, you're just helping Jeff Bezos buy another yacht or steal some more souls or whatever it is he does. (I am totally guilty of using Amazon more than I should, but I'm doing my best to cut back.) Small businesses keep our downtowns alive.

This post didn't really end up where I had intended when I started it, but the sentiment remains true: Midwesterners will tell you all sorts of stuff about their clothes - namely how good we are at NOT spending money.

the demise of festival food.

 I have written extensively about the joys of the Brookings Summer Arts Festival, so I probably don't need to tell you much more about it. Here's the short version: it's a giant annual two-day arts festival in Brookings, South Dakota. It's also my favorite weekend of the year (tied with Halloween, obviously). There are amazing vendors and you always see eight thousand people you know and I almost never miss it.

One of the greatest joys of the arts festival used to be the food. Yes, I said USED to be. In my late teens and early 20s, you basically had to commit to being there eight hours for both days in order to eat all the things you wanted to eat. I would arrive each year with a rough game plan of the order in which I wanted to consume said food: frozen hot chocolate and mini donuts for Saturday breakfast, cheese curds and a strawberry smoothie for Saturday lunch, SDSU ice cream for Saturday dessert. Then on Sunday, you would return to re-eat the things you loved most, as you would not get to eat them again until the following year. Oh, and be sure to bring plenty of cash, because the food vendors never took cards.

Flawless, right?

(If you're a 20-something with an insane metabolism and a stomach of steel, that is.)

It WAS flawless. For a while. Until my favorite foods started to disappear.

The first thing to go was the frozen hot chocolate. There was only one food stand that sold it, along with kuchen (which is South Dakota's state dessert and basically a cake/custard/pie all in one). But one year, that food stand was nowhere to be found. Honestly, I was a little bit crushed. It's almost always as hot as the surface of the sun during the summer arts festival, and a frozen hot chocolate is perfect for the sweltering days. 

Ok, no more hot chocolate. But I still had my other favorites.

Next to go were the strawberry smoothies. It needs to be said these were not just any strawberry smoothies. They were hand-blended in front of you using just real strawberries, ice, and sugar. None of this milk or yogurt-based nonsense. They were refreshing, tasted great, and had actual strawberry chunks in them. But then they were gone.

There were several other stands selling strawberry smoothies, so I tried each and every one that year to no avail. They were either dairy-based or syrup-based - not a real strawberry to be found. I was once again crushed.

After my two favorite drinks were gone, I switched to hand-squeezed lemonade. You can get lemonade at almost every food booth, but you have to be very careful about where you actually purchase it. Many of the lemonade options are not actually hand-squeezed - they are just from powder or concentrate. That is simply not what I want. You have to look for places giving out clear cups with actual lemons in them. That's the key. This year, I found my real lemonade at the Brookings High School Marching Band fundraiser booth. I'll be back there next year.

The cheese curds were the next victims. There were several cheese curd stands at the park, but one in particular was head and shoulders above the rest. I don't know what made them that way, but these cheese curds were really something special. You couldn't find curds of that caliber anywhere else - no other festivals, no fairs, nowhere. It was the shabbiest looking stand and only sold cheese curds, so that's how you knew which one to go to. But then THEY were gone. You can still get cheese curds at the park, but they are far inferior to the originals.

But the mini donuts hung on. These were not just any mini donuts - they were magical. You would order a half dozen, a dozen, or a dozen donut holes. You'd get them piping hot in a clear plastic bag with the inside coated in sugar. They would invariably burn your fingers and your taste buds, but it was worth it. These mini donuts tasted less like donuts and more like funnel cake, which is absolutely my jam. The mini donut stand was also run by a non-profit, which you can't help but love. Plus, they were the only stand selling ice-cold glasses of milk. So Midwestern.

This past year (as in yesterday) was the first year without the mini donuts. I felt that familiar sinking in my stomach, knowing that another greasy piece of my childhood had disappeared. 

The final item remaining on my original list is SDSU ice cream. I am not at all concerned about that disappearing - SDSU ice cream is much too important for that. It's an institution in and of itself. Even if, god forbid, SDSU ice cream vanishes from the park, there are still plenty of places to obtain it. Not the end of the world.

None of this is to say I go hungry at the arts festival. I just can't get the super special foods that I used to find only there. I had a funnel cake and iced coffee for breakfast this year, which was not at all shabby.

With the lunch/supper options at the festival being pretty meh (giant corndogs, giant turkey legs, etc), I instead opted to have Nick's for lunch (never a bad idea) and a little taco truck for supper on Saturday. Both were absolutely delicious. 

Oh, and a lot of the food booths take cards now! The fundraiser/nonprofit booths don't, so you'll still want some cash on hand, but the food booths that are full-time businesses do. As someone who almost never has cash, this was a welcome change.

We'll see what next year brings, food-wise - you'd better believe I'll be at the arts festival unless I am actively dying. Maybe I'll see you there. We can share a funnel cake.

cute shit Phineas says, part II.

Phineas is getting to be kind of hilarious the older he gets. Kids are known for their deadly honesty, and he's no exception.

Here are a few more gems from the last several months.

IN CONVERSATION

Phineas: I’m going to get big like Mitch.

me: yes you are!

Phineas: but now I’m little.

me: but you are bigger every day! once you were little enough to fit in my belly.

Phineas: … don’t eat me.

IN CONVERSATION II

Phineas: Mabel wants to talk.

me: What does she want to talk about?

Phineas: me!

me: What would she say about you?

Phineas: mrow.

IN CONVERSATION III

Phineas: do you have a headache today? me: no! Phineas: I’m so glad! one minute later… Phineas: I need to take a break. me: from what? Phineas: you.

BABIES

He told me he wanted to snuggle his "brudder" and laid on my stomach. He even talked to his "brudder" and said: "Hi buddy. I love you." In the next breath, Phineas asked, "Can I hit my brudder?"

(note: he alternates between calling this baby his “brudder” or sister. I’m saying this is not a gender reveal - Phineas just happened to land on “brudder” this time.)

(upon telling Phineas I have a baby in my belly)

Phineas: Did you eat a baby?

INSULTS

Don't get your stinky breath on me!

GETTING OUT OF BED

I want to snuggle for just a few minutes.

LEAVE ME ALONE.

I'm not ready to get up.

BEING SWEET

You're always beautiful, Mama.

You're my Calla.

ON LEAVING

Are you going to do laundry without me?

BEING POLITE

Come swing with me! Ask Dad if you can please be excused!

ON COOKING

I make recipes in the mixer with Dad. We put in the ingredients.

AS A NURSE

Do you have a headache? Let me feel your head. I will get you ice. (returns with one ice cube) You will feel better soon.

APOLOGIZING

I'm sorry, Muffin. (giggles) I called you Muffin!

ON OUR HOUSEHOLD GHOST

(looking in the library at night)

There's a ghost in there. I like that ghost.