MONITORING THE SITUATION CLOSELY (...BUT IS PILATES STILL ON?!)

There is no tension quite like the preemptive weather refresh.

The sky is gray. The streets are dusted with snow. The forecast says things like developing system and possible impact, which sounds less like meteorology and more like a threat written by HR.

And yet — the city has shifted.

Every parent in New York woke up this morning with the same thought: Just decide.

Instead, we receive the email.

“We are monitoring the situation closely.”

This phrase arrives before coffee. Before stability. It is bolded. It is calm. It is profoundly unhelpful. It is the Switzerland of emails.

Backpacks are defensively packed and snow boots sit by the door like they've been told to wait there and haven't heard back." Meal plans are made, but with resentment. No one wants to cut extra strawberries for nothing.

The group chats ignite.

“My app says 7 inches.”

“Mine says 2.”

“Two feels reckless.”

“My neighbor’s cousin works for the DOE.”

“What’s he saying?”

“He’s monitoring.”

Meanwhile, the grocery stores look like we’ve received a coded message to prepare for elegant exile. There is no milk, or bread or semblance of a decent looking dozen of eggs. There are seventeen nauseating varieties of sparkling water and an untouched pyramid of fennel.

In a moment of smug modern optimism, I ordered groceries online. . Seven hours later, what arrived was less an order and more a creative reinterpretation. No blueberries.But 13 kiwis, all aggressively unripe.

No oat milk.But something called “oat-adjacent beverage.”

Instead of chicken breasts: “chef’s selection.”

This is not the time for selection.

Outside, the Upper East Side hums with polished denial. The doorman says, “Let’s see what happens,” in a tone that suggests he’s seen things. The pharmacy line is always feet deep with people buying batteries like we plan to power the eastern seaboard ourselves.

And then, the most important question of all:

Is Pilates still on?

Because if school is cancelled but Pilates proceeds, that is chaos. That is a structural failure in the ecosystem.

The studio has sent no email. They, too, are monitoring the situation closely. All plans remain technically on.

“Still good for dinner?”“Yes, unless.”“Let’s play it by ear.”

Play it by ear? We are not jazz musicians. We are parents standing in kitchens with packed backpacks, fully charged devices, tentative work out plans, and a growing pile of kiwis.

The storm is not the problem.

Snow is manageable, cinematic, a clear narrative.

It’s the monitoring that breaks us.

The waiting. The refreshing. The emotional whiplash of “winter advisory” becoming “light dusting” becoming “band forming over Manhattan,” all before the coffee has a chance to work.

Look, just cancel or don’t. But do not make us hover in this curated limbo, where calendars glitch, childcare wobbles, and the entire ecosystem hangs on a 7:42 a.m. email that may or may not load.

We are not calm. We are stretched.

We, too, are monitoring the situation very closely.