I was listening to the news last night and there was a piece on stem cell research. Although I have heard arguements about it before, I never really was too concerned about it. But after listening to this report, I was left with alot of questions and opinions. Here is the definition of an Embryo:

"When a fertilized egg has implanted in the uterus, the group of cells that will become a baby is called an embryo.

A developing, fertilized egg is known by several names within the first 2 weeks after conception, including zygote, morula (day 4), and blastocyst (day 5).

The embryonic period lasts until about 8 weeks after conception (about 10 weeks from the last menstrual period). During this time, the embryo is forming major body structures, such as the head, spine, and internal organs. This is the time when most birth defects develop. After this point, the growing baby is called a fetus."

So, the question is......if the embryo is not considered a "fetus" until it is 10 weeks old, do you still consider the alive cells to be a child?
You do when a woman is pregnant. What if the cells are not inside of a mother. Do you think that the abundance of embryo's in our country are enough to support stem cell research? Is this type of science and technology keeping us from discovering new medical break throughs? How do you feel about stem cell research? What if you could benefit from this research, would your opinion change?

Recently, we became aware that my son is having a difficult time with his studies at school. He is in first grade. The cirriculum for a first grade class these days are much different than what we remember as being first graders ourselves. Even in kindergarten, the expectations are quite high. This being due to the inefficent education system of our country. They have raised the standards, which is necessary and beneficial to our students in this day and age.

But what do you do with a child that is having REAL problems in their school work. Resource teachers are on site, yet they are not quite sure what the problem is. We have had my son tested by the state for any learning disabilities, of which he has been diagnosed with. But is that what is REALLY wrong with him? I've purchased the "Hooked on Phonics". He attends after school programs. But all of these things are not really helping him. They are to a certain extent, but he is also getting very tired and "burnt out" with all of the information we are trying to put into his little mind. And it is leading to other behavioral problems. I don't believe we have found what is really wrong with him.

So who do you go to when you encounter a problem like this? Is it the teacher's responsibility to take what the see happening in the classroom and narrow it down to a general problem area? Are the teachers trained sufficiently to make such a suggestion. The answer is NO, they are not trained enough. They do not know what is wrong with your child, other than his grades are poor. Even the resource teacher, who IS supposed to be trained in the field and be able to pick up on certain weaknesses that indicate a problem and/or condition. But not all of them can do this.

There is a "I DON'T KNOW" bandwagon that trots through our schools and classrooms. There is also and "ADD/ADHD" bandwagon that follows the "I DON'T KNOW" lead wagon. And who is left to help? Anyone? No, the only ones left are you and your child, with no answers. No help. No direction to go. And once again, we must follow our instincts as parents. We know our children better than anyone, including their teachers, unfortunately.

Trust your instincts and support your child, regardless of what the "professionals" at school tell you what the "think" may be the problem. If you do have administrators who are an exception to this rule, then you have found some of the "few" that truly understand educational learning problems and/or disabilities. Our federal, state, and local level educators MUST address these issues if they want to see test scores raised in our school systems. Otherwise, there will always be children who "fall through the cracks" and struggle through their lives, from not being properly diagnosed.

Which would you prefer to receive on Valentine's Day? Flowers or Chocolate? In speaking with many women on this topic, the verdict has been BOTH!

Some women love flowers, myself included. The fresh scent that sits in the air. The thoughts of Spring that bring you a warm sensation of sunshine. Their undenying beauty. And they don't necessarily have to be roses. Many women who enjoy flowers for Valentine's Day don't really care what kind of flowers you send. As long as they receive flowers. Although there are a few that MUST simply have those magical long stemmed beauties. Love is implied in their soft, tightly woven petals.

Chocolate, on the other hand, is a woman's best friend. It can make us feel better just by the thought of it. Some women see getting chocolate on Valentine's Day as an early pass to cheat on their New Year's Resolution. Others will pack it away in their desks at work for those "gotta have a piece of chocolate" moments. Some will simply devour whatever they get. The sweet surrender melting in your mouth, followed by the rush of endorphins, is pure satisfaction.

So if your valentine is unsure of what you prefer, make sure to tell them what your heart yearns for. Those of us who are naturalist and chocoholics, we prefer both. And if you don't have a valentine, treat yourself. Why go without? Who cares who gave it to you!

I have to tell you that I truly love my son! Most of my fears I've had over the years have truly vanished, although new ones develop almost simultaneously. But they aren't as bad as they used to be. He's 16 now. I can remember the day I found out I was going to have my first child. I was 19 years old. I had been married for about a year and a half to my first husband. I was so happy, and my husband was too. But over time, I could see the change in him. As I grew bigger, he drew further away. And then came the baby.
I was no longer the woman, or should I say, the girl, that he had married. He was no prize himself. Addicted to drugs, and an alcoholic. And there I was, 20 years old, with a baby, poor, and very naive. The first time he decided to hurt me was when Matthew was 3 months old. We were arguing and he threw a full bottle of beer that hit the wall next to the dresser I was hunched beside. The glass and beer went everywhere, including all over me. I stayed with him. How would I be able to raise this baby without him? I truly loved him. I had seen the good side of him. I had seen this before I was fat, or had someone else to take care of. His abuse continued and grew in intensity. I did whatever I could to make him happy, but nothing but cocaine and pills made him happy. That doesn't even go into the countless affairs he had.
He convinced me to move out to the country. It was cheaper, Matthew was only a year and a half old by that time. My parents were about 7 miles away, "close enough" I thought. I thought wrong. I can't possibly to into everytime he hit me, I've blocked alot out. But there are a few. One incident that started was because he was mad at me for not having dinner ready on time. It was 10:30pm when he came home. He chased me out of the house, and I jumped into the car and locked the doors. He picked up a steel clothes prop and started swinging it at the car until the window broke. The glass shattered and I was cut all up and down my arm and side. I jumped out the other side of the car and ran into the woods. Bleeding all over myself, only dressed in a nightgown, I found a spot that I could see him and the house. He didn't come after me, and I watched. I waited until 3am to go back quietly into the house, and slept on the couch. Of course, with any abusive spouse, they go through their remorse period, and the next morning he was SO SORRY, and couldn't believe he had done any of that.
Three months later, and another fight, again, along the same insane lines of stupidity, he hit me. This time his fist hit my head. And after he hit me in the head, he put my head through the wall. He kicked me a few times, telling me to get up. I didn't. I waited, like a dead woman laying on the floor, with my baby in his bedroom, still awake. Still awake. As he had been countless times before when this happend. We left that night in an ambulance. My girlfriend was there, and hid in a closet until he left. She walked almost a mile with Matthew to the nearest neighbor's house and called the police. He was never charged with anything. He paid the ambulance bill. Gee....Thanks.

Fast forward 15 years........Matthew is now 16, in high school, playing football, driving, has a girlfriend, has a part-time job as a busboy at a fine dining restaurant near our home.
I remarried about 2 years after I left. I met a man that loved me unconditionally, took my son in like his own, and we are all so blessed to have found eachother. We have also been blessed with a child of our own. And although it has been a hard road, I can't help but think what my son would have turned out to be had I stayed.
I may have stepped in and protected him throughout his childhood, while my HUSBAND was trying to discipline. I have always been over protective of him to a certain point. Only because I had to leave him in his room to listen to his biological father hit his mom. As he grew, I could see the pain in his eyes. The fear in his face. The lack of trust. That is an incredible guilt that I have had to over come as a woman, a parent, and as a human being. He has grown into a respectful, trustworthy, honest(c'mon he's a teen!), and just an all around wonderful child to have.

Sometimes, there is a happy ending.

People often comment on my blogging name. Some just simply "love it". I'm going to share a sweet little story with you on how I came upon such a cute name.

Around Mother's Day last year, I went to pick up my son, who is 7, from school. All the children were carring their handmade gifts for their moms. I always get excitied because they come up with the cutest ideas. So as I approach my child, he is carrying a small tin with a little plant inside of it, I think it was an impatient. I oohed and ahhed over it. When we got home, I told him, we had better water it. He stopped me and said "Wait Mom, there's something in there for you". I wondered what could be in this little plant. He stuck his little fingers inside the dirt and pulled out a rounded rock, painted like a ladybug. "This is for you, I made you a painted ladybug"! That made my heart simply melt.

Hence the name.....Thank you Michael!