Letters to my children: De-pod-ing

Dearest Beloveds,

I am not sure if this should be spelled depodding, or depoding (rhymes with coding), so I am going to embrace the over utilization of the dash and go with de-pod-ing. (Un-pod-ing sounds even weirder).

De-pod-ing (verb) - to de-pod The act of untangling the psychological, physical, and emotional rules/barriers/mandates that have been in place since March 2020 per Covid-19.

eg: “Corinna is wondering when the mourning period happened as New York de-pods.” or “Mandates for masks are being removed from public spaces despite the 50% vaccination rate. Many individuals find this unnerving as the world de-pods around them.”

What Momma is trying to say is that we have one more week of our pod for the Bean and then we are de-podded. No longer deciding upon exposure based on the safety of the families involved. It is just our own safety we are thinking about.

Many places in New York have been lifting the mask restrictions - but we are still supposed to be apart from each other. Some places you go no one is wearing a mask inside and some places you go everyone is still wearing a mask inside. It all feels very weird. Just like last summer, Rhinebeck downtown has erupted onto the roads with highway barriers protecting the tables that have spilled onto the asphalt. I hope the outdoor dining is here to stay.

It is strawberry picking season. Your father has been toiling away in the garage (he started in March) on a solar dehydrator (thank you Mother Earth News) and we are almost ready to put the berries on the drying racks. We built the dehydrator because we did a lot of drying in Ann Arbor. Once we realized that the dehydrator doubled our electricity usage for the day, we stopped using it and we missed it. So here we are. Last year we went nearly everyday to pick berries - so excited to see other people - even if we were strewn across a field with masks on. We shall see what strawberry picking looks like this year.

In other news, Dragon, you are asking me for a bow and arrow. We made one with sticks from our garden and yarn and that worked remarkably well, until the bow snapped in half. Yesterday you asked me for a snorkel.

“Would you rather have a bow and arrow or a snorkel?”

“A snorkel.”

“Really? Because you can only use a snorkel in the water.” (Though as I write this, I could totally see you wearing a snorkel all the time.)

“I don’t want water to go up my nose in the water!”

At this point in the breakfast conversation your sister interjects. “Dragon, you won’t get water up your nose if you don’t breathe in the water.”

“But I want to breathe in the water!” And there we have it, the jabberwocky logic of a four year old.

Bean, you are obsessed with playing Yankee Doodle Dandy on the piano. It is wonderful to hear you playing downstairs, unprompted, again and again and again. And again. Quarter notes, eighth notes, new hand positions - all of the names of the notes. I am so proud of your focus, sometimes I need to pinch myself that you are a person doing this when just 7 years ago you were a floppy schmoppy baby - so tiny and small.

The de-pod-ing continues and we will muddle through - powered by strawberries and snorkels. I love you both so so much. Beyond words much.