I’m grouchy! I almost never get the grumps, but these last two weeks have been ludicrous. Let’s re-cap the calamities that have sucked my joy:

1)    I broke my big toe racing through an obstacle course at my son’s birthday party. After three hours at the hospital, X-rays and ceaseless, mind-bending pain, I was released. Apparently it will take six to eight weeks to heal.

2)    That very same day, our dog, Mr. Wilson, broke his toenail so badly that he had to have it amputated. He now has a giant cone on his head and is smashing into everything in the house… Including me and my broken appendage. In addition, I must also duct-tape my own socks to the dogs’ paw to keep him from licking his wound. To date, I am down four pair.

3)    I was THIS CLOSE to being on a fancy Network TV show -- until they decided to hold off and consider it for next month. My highest high U-turned and took a hard left into reality-crushing nothingness.

So here I am: Ouchy, grouchy and disappointed. I would like very much to run away. I am sure a few days on a tropical beach would solve everything…

My dream sequence opens with me in a reclining deck chair. A Tiki umbrella shades me and my coconut drink (replete with mini skewers of fruit and edible flowers). Azure waves lap over my feet while the Ocean spray clears my head of any negativity. A dolphin leaps in the distance as the palm trees sway gently in the breeze. Ricardo, my valet, has just placed a silver serving platter of prawns, lobster tails and filet mignon bites next to me… “Gracias, Ricardo.”

Being snowbound with my young for three days has forced me to face the cold, hard truth: We are spoiled rotten!

Paging through American history, I read of brave souls who hunkered down in four FEET of snow and were happy to dine on a handful of acorns. Ordinary people, who possessed the type of human fortitude I cannot imagine existing in 2010. I also note the beautiful absence of whining back in the day. Realize these folks didn’t even have indoor plumbing for Pete’s sake! It’s mind-boggling.

One of the most extreme cases of snowstorm confinement is the tragic tale of the Donner party. These families were lost for an entire winter in the mountains of the Sierra Nevada’s. They boiled Ox hides for food and read the Bible as their only source of entertainment. They starved and shivered until their limbs fell off. Some even resorted to cannibalism to stay alive. But they sucked it up and held fast. More than half survived the ordeal after relief parties rescued them.

In stark contrast, my families’ snowmageddon consisted of: watching movies, making brownies, dancing to CDs and snacking on popcorn and hot cocoa. With all of these luxuries, we STILL managed to complain of boredom in our toasty, warm house. What a bunch of wusses we are!

Now, before you think I’m going to get all “authentic” and turn off the heat to toughen up my family – I’m NOT! I love electricity too much. But I promise, I won’t complain a bit about this next round of snowstorms. I’ll just rough it out with a smile on my face; thankful for every comfort we have.

The widespread misconception that, “Your child will even out by third grade,” has me fuming. First, if that were true, then why would schools have gifted programs or special instruction for slower learners? Moreover, if this concept of leveling-out is accurate, then schools should toss out their grading systems entirely. So, now that we all agree this theory is rubbish, let me tell you a story…

Last week, I was registering my youngest child for Kindergarten. After filling out a thousand forms, I inquired about the gifted program. As soon as the words left my mouth I got “the look.” You know the one: Pursed lips, head tilting and glazed-over eyes. Based on this reaction, I can only assume one of two things: (1) Every parent asks for elevated teaching for their child; or (2) They think I am an overly-obsessed mother. I pressed on.

I asked about testing to prove my claim (I found out they don’t test for giftedness until third grade). I offered solutions, “Why not develop a kindergarten class solely for exceptional children?” It was HERE where I was practically patted on the head and told, “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. We’ll take care of him.”

Let me tell you, nothing steams my vegetables more than condescension. I wanted to scream. I wanted to prove to them I wasn’t crazy. I wanted to point out, in glowing detail, the extensive testing and numerous classrooms, catering to less advanced children in this school. I also wanted them to show me just ONE room that existed solely for advanced kindergarten instruction. Instead, for fear of labeling my child as, “The one with the confrontational mother,” I left.

I cried the whole way home. Not for me, but for my 5-year-old; the one who reads Dictionarys and Encyclopedias for pleasure. This precious child of mine, who studies maps and separates animals by genus and species, may very well be bored in Kindergarten.

Every Kiss Begins with… Okay.  As in, “Okay, I’ll take the trash out right now. Sure, I’ll fix that squeaky door. YES! I would LOVE to empty the dishwasher.” Keep your diamond pendants and give me some compliance. I’ll kiss you like crazy if you help me out once in a while, okay?

Tell Her You’d Marry Her All Over Again. But, would I say “yes” again? Will that sparkly bauble guarantee a repeat stroll down the aisle? I think not. Here’s an idea: How about hiring a maid or a personal assistant for me? Too expensive, you say? Then maybe you could take the vacuum cleaner out for a spin every now and then? I would totally marry you a second time for that!

She Wants A Heart Shaped Box of Chocolates. No, I don’t. I find nothing more maddening than biting off the corners of 25 hunks of candy, only to get ONE morsel that pleases me. It makes me angry. Then, I am left with a fancy box of defiled sweets, oozing pink goo all over the counter. Instead, you could give me a hand-written love note…. I’ll eat up every word.

Say It With Flowers. Yes, please do. And while you’re at it, say, “Go ahead honey; sleep in for a few hours.” Say, “No, no, no. I’ll fold the laundry and put it away.” Say, “Looks like you need a night out with your friends. How about next Friday? I’ll watch the kids.” That would be outstanding!

When You Care Enough To Send The Very Best.  In fact, the very best card is a homemade card. It has glitter and globs of glue all over it, with the words, “I LUV YOU MOMY!! " scrawled on the front. I will cherish it forever.

Open Hearts Collection.  Jane Seymour may have the leisure time to sit in her solarium and paint doodles all day, but no mother I know has this type of free time. So, I will trade you that fancy necklace for a few hours of quiet time in a sunny room. I don’t even need an easel; just give me a few moments of solitude. I promise -- it will do wonders for my heart.

I hope these help...HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! Xo -- jane

I just found out I am an idiot. Not by IQ test, but by trying to help my first-grader with his math homework. It was a cartoon “Number Circus” that sent me over the cliffs of stupidity. I read and re-read the directions. I stared at the “Big Top” filled with numerals and then read the directions again. I tore apart my desk, searching for the cheat sheet his teacher sent home… couldn’t find it.  AARRGH!

Perhaps I should mention my overwhelming fear of clowns? Yeah, they were scattered all over the page -- juggling and tumbling and taunting me with their freakishly wide, painted-on smiles. A well-placed hand and a jumbo eraser hid most of them from view. I pressed on with the homework and questioned my son.

“What did your teacher tell you about the Number Circus? Do you remember what these ‘trampoline machines’ are used for? Do you remember anything about today? Did you even GO to school?” I was ready to lose it. I read the directions again, as the sea lion with the beach ball on his nose mocked me.

Suddenly, amid the gathering storm, my son piped up with an, “Ooooh, I remember...” Sweet mother of pearl, I was SAVED! I left him to navigate the mathematical tightrope while I did the dishes; far away from the creepy Big Top.

I pondered my College degree. I reminded myself that I successfully manage bills, the family budget and calculate per unit costs at the supermarket. I tried to convince myself that I was smart. It was all so disheartening.