Peas of the Pod 1

DivorcingDaze actually started as written columns, before the birth of our podcasts. We got so excited with the new podcast technology that we nearly forgot all about them and they lived only on my hard drive. I'm posting them for you to read, not hear...this is where it all began...

DIVORCING DAZE: my column (1) 2003

This is the thing. Some days are bad. And some are just worse. I have a four year old, a two year old, a cat, a 200 lb dog and I live in New York City. And I'm getting a divorce.
Divorce is not a good thing even if half of all married couples do it. Nope, nothing good about it. But where would we be if we couldn't laugh at our own misery?
If you are a New Yorker, you're probably familiar with those not too rare occasions where you are scheduled to be in two places at the same time. Even before my husband left me for his soul mate of a boss it was hard to get out the door with two young children. And now as a single mother with an overburdened schedule and bruised heart I feel like doing three Hail Marys when the children and I successfully exit through the lobby doors of my apartment building. And I am Jewish. Well, this Wednesday morning in the dead, and I mean DEAD, of winter, was one of those swell times.
Applying to kindergarten in New York City deserves a weekly column all on its own, but to say the least, it is a time consuming, annoying and nearly preposterous process. Even if all you want (or can afford) is public school.
So this morning I had a tour scheduled at PS 87 on West 78th Street at 9:00am. Which is the same time I drop my four year old off at nursery school on 103rd St. Before any of this happens I need to walk the 200 lb dog and get the two year old to my babysitter who is babysitting for someone else today (I won't explain).
To make my life easier, or so I think, I enlist my soon-to-be X to help with my morning rush hour. Did I mention that the soon-to-be X (from heretofore will just be referred to as X) lives six floors above me in the SAME building? And yes, that truly defines a living nightmare.
Now they say if you don't learn from your mistakes, you are just stupid. So please just call me stupid. Running issue through marriage was X's LATENESS. I guess you could call me optimistic, but I'm not. I'm stupid. X due downstairs to pick 4-year-old up at 8:00 and take her to school. My well thought out plan should work fine. She's up, (not easy), dressed (hard), eaten half a banana (with pleading), hair brushed (really difficult) and shoes on. Lunch is made, newly washed sheets for naptime ready to go. Scarf, hat and mittens found and the phone rings. X will be 10 minutes late. Thirty minutes later he shows his well-rested face. No dark circles under his eyes. No cat hair nor dog slobber on his coat.
So now I have 30 minutes to walk the dog, drop off the two year old and get to the school tour that starts at 9:00 SHARP and no latecomers need apply. I make a quick executive decision and tell the dog he'll just have to hold it in. I throw the two year old in her stroller, put on my hot pink down parka bought soon after X left -- in one of those "he can't get me down" buying binges aimed to heighten the "I'll show him" attitude.
I jog through high piles of New York City slush to the babysitter's. I arrive at her building, flushed, out of breath but feeling positive about the possibility of making this school tour for kindergarten on time. Only the elevators of this high-rise building aren't working.
Power is quickly restored but I've lost six precious minutes that I did not have. Drop the kid off and try to hail a cab. And try. And try. Run to subway, miss the local by a breath and then wait. And wait. And wait.
Itâ??s now 9:20 and Iâ??m running through the halls of PS 87 hoping to catch up with the touring moms and dads. When I sneak into the group, I think I feel judgmental stares. Perhaps it's the cat hair and dog saliva that decorate my hot pink down parka.
After the THREE hour tour of this elementary school I ask the principal for an application for an "out of zone" student so I can offer prolific descriptions of the academic promise of my four year old. The principal twists a wry smile and says, "Oh, you're too late for that. THAT was due in December. NO EXCEPTIONS."
I exit and trudge to the uptown subway. On the dank underground stairs, a well-dressed woman passes by and says, "Your coat's a great color." I'm actually, almost, moved to tears. Ailing, maybe, resilient, yep, hot pink? Absolutely.
So my hot pink down parka, even covered in cat hair and dog slobber, elicits a compliment. And for the first time this morning I smile. And stay smiling until I get home to see what the 200lb dog has done inside my apartment.