To walker or not to walker?

Noelie is now 10 months old. She has cut 2 teeth without too many problems. We were lucky enough not to have sleepless nights. There has been the odd unsettled moment, her face showing pain. But nothing that a bit of Nurofen hasn't solved.

She is very vocal, talking to herself, talking to her teddies, talking to us. She has mastered the baba, mama and dada and some other as yet unidentified sounds. People also comment quite often on her appetite. She has never refused anything that was presented to her. She loves food (although I know that she will develop that terrible fear of vegetables soon enough). You can not eat in front of her without her following your food from the plate to your mouth, which can be quite unnerving.

She is overall a very good humoured and pleasant baby. She can play by herself, keep herself occupied for a while. She loves her big sister and loves playing with her.

So what's the problem, I hear you ask. Well it's not a problem as such. It's just that I am at a loss as to what to do. If you put her sitting down, she can remain sitted unaided for a very long time. But, she can't sit up by herself yet. She hasn't yet grasped the concept of using her arms to sit herself up. She rolls from her front to her back and vice versa but she doesn't crawl or bum around which leads her to be extremely frustrated as she wants to move, she wants to go around and follow us. She loves to stand up (assisted of course). She even manages to stand up for a few seconds on her own while holding onto the sofa. But my problem is, she can't get to the sofa. She is forever sitting down stretching forward and sideways. She rolls herself, ends up on her belly and tries to crawl but ends up pushing herself backwards rather than forward. Which, you guessed, leads to more frustration as she pushes herself away from the object she wants to get.

I have always hated walkers. Marie didn't have one. I just don't think that they are 'good' for babies. I think that they don't help them with walking at all. I find them quite dangerous (although we don't have stairs, I am thinking of the fingers caught between walls and walkers etc). Canada has taken to ban the things altogether over safety issues, so I can't be that wrong about them, can I?

And here is my dilemna. Noelie wants to move around. She gets incredibly frustrated at not being able to. I have left her to try and figure out how to crawl (as bad as it sounds), I have encouraged her to try and reach for something in front of her. I have shown her how to crawl, I have tried to put her arms and legs in the right position. But nothing seems to work and there is only so much wingeing I can take. When up my arms, she just twists and turns trying to direct me towards where she wants to go, arching her back to the point where she actually nearly breaks mine. I hear you all say: she will figure it out, they all do. But she's been stuck at this stage for a few weeks now. She seems to want to skip the whole buming around/crawling stage and just stand up and walk. And here I am now thinking that, as much as I don't like the things, maybe, just maybe, a walker could be the answer.

I have twisted and turned the idea in my head and I know, deep down (and as bad as it sounds), that all I'm looking for is something that would keep her occupied for a bit while I go about my business because as we all know, babies tend to pick the most awkward times to want attention (we all know that, don't we?). Something that would take away her frustration of not being mobile. And then, I just feel guilty for thinking that way, for wanting to find something that will gets us through that hurdle, for wanting to give in to her frustration. Because I believe that I would not be helping her work out how to do it by herself, because I would be going back on something that I have said a few times, that I don't like walkers, that they do not help babies in finding their own feet and supporting their own weight. And probably because I want to go about my business, sometimes, with minimum disruption.

It goes without saying that I wouldn't leave her in a walker all day, of course and then I think is it worth buying something like that if she is going to use it for a few months only and only for a limited time during the day?

Did you use a walker? What did you think of it? Am I making too much of a deal over a silly thing like a walker?
Even better, did you notice any difference between a child using a walker and one not using it?

Let me know!

I got myself a make over!

As you can probably see it, I got myself a make over. I have been wanting to make my blog look prettier for a while. After a few days of playing about looking for templates, I finally found this one today at Leelou blog. And it made my mouth water. That cup of chocolate looks just sooooo yummy, I had to have it. After a few technical glitches (like losing all my comments, oops), a few swear words, and a lot of patience, it's up (and hopefully running). I just wish the title could look a bit more fancy but I don't know how to do it. If you know how, feel free to tell me how!

So the all important questions: What do you think of it? Do you think it takes too long to load? Is it too busy? Let me know!

Shoe Showy Meme

Another tag! I have been tagged by the lovely Emily over at Babyrambles for the shoe showy meme. I thought this was going to be a bit of fun and it was. But it also actually turned out to be quite an eye opener. Shoes reflect your personality. Yes, they do. I never really stopped to think and look at my shoes. Well, I do sometimes look at my shoes (in embarrassment mostly). But I never really took the time to think much about how they reflect me.

The first thing I thought was 'Oh no, I don't have any of those really trendy shoes to show. Or those special occasion shoes.' Now don't get me wrong, I love shoes. I know about the Louboutins and the Manolo whats-his-name (only joking, I know who Manolo Blahnik is). I love looking at shoes in the shops, I am strangely attracted to the wackiest Red or Dead ones, or very very high heels. But, when it comes to buying them, well, not for me thanks. The risk of spraining my ankles and falling flat on my face with a baby in my arms is too present for me to even consider buying high heels. Not such the yummy mummy, I guess. I have shoes though, of course I do. But I'm not that big of a shoe owner (some would probably argue that 7 pairs of shoes is plenty but really, it's not). But, in the spirit of the game, I took a good look at my shoe collection and I realized something. I'm all about comfort. And I'm quite flat, well not me, my shoes are. And it is not necessarily a good thing when you're only 5'4. I own 2 pairs of heels. One boring black pair that I used to wear to the what- do- you- call- it, office, that's it, the office. And a more fancy (by fancy I mean that they have a little flower on them. Whoo hoo talk about fancy!) brown pair that comes out, well, maybe twice a year if they're lucky. I have had a lot of problem with my toenails (but don't worry, you won't get any of the gory details) and hate my toes too, so I have none of those peep toes ones.

I am also a creature of habit. I believe that when you're onto a winner, you don't let go. Which probably explains why I own about 20 tops from Petit Bateau, usually the same type in 2 different colours. Or 2 pairs of tennis flats, again same model, different colour. Or that I am on my 4th pair of Kickers. Now, before you think that I took a picture standing on my tippy toes or that these are Marie's shoes, I wish to confirm that these are MY feet, flat on the ground, and these are MY shoes. What can I do, I am only a teeny size 3. So without further a do, here are my shoes.


I bought my first pair of Kickers at the tender age of 17 and never looked back. This is now my 4th pair. And when these will be in such a shape that I need to buy shoes, I will go and get another pair of them. Some will say I am holding on to my youth and I probably am. I just LOVE them, they are fun without being too crazy, classical in a non conformist way, comfortable and durable. What's not to love.

And when I grow old and consider myself not rebellious enough to wear them, well, I'll probably move onto these. A pair of ballet flats from Repetto. Although sadly not in my budget right now, I would probably buy a pair in every colour they have. They are just the most comfortable shoes. If anybody is interested in buying me a gift, I would be delighted! Just remember the size (sure, it's probably the same one as your kids), 3!

It is now time to tag other wonderful bloggers:

- Caroline at Last of the Mojitos.
- Jen at Autism, the King and I.
- Diney at Older mums are fun.
- Chic Mama.
- And Heather at Notes from Lapland.

Go on, ladies, show us your shoes!

Stories and songs meme

I was tagged a good while ago by the great Chic Mama for the stories and songs meme. My blogging mojo was at its lowest and I didn't do it straight away. And then I forgot who tagged me but I'm glad to say that my investigative skills are sharp enough and I managed to track it back. So here is my songs and stories.

Before anybody starts throwing up, I have to warn you that you probably heard it a million times before and you're probably sick of it. But anytime I hear the first few bars of it, I am litterally transported back in time and I am standing on Brighton Pier as a 13 year old on her first week long school trip to the UK (actually when I think of it, first and only trip the UK). So here it is:




It was our first week long school trip. It took ages to get there. A 12 hours bus drive and a couple of hours on a ferry during a storm (so bad that the ferry that left after us sank, although I don't remember if there had been any casualties). We stayed in a town called Leighton Buzzard, I think. We were paired and stayed with a host family. I don't remember anything about the town or the family. What I remember is the great laughs we had. How we found a dirty pair of knickers under one of our beds and had great fun throwing them at each other (with a stick of course!!), getting them caught on the lamp shade and trying to get them down before the lady of the house came up to get us. How she baked muffins for us and we couldn't remember or didn't know the word 'smell' to say that it smelled nice so we went downstairs sniffing like dogs and making 'Mmmmhhh' sounds to let her know that it really was smelling nice.

We visited London and Strafford upon Avon. I fell in love with the typical english cottage. I remember the boys at the back of the bus making rude signs at drivers on the motorway. One of those boys was the biology teacher's son and she had come with us and, boy, did he get into trouble with his mam! I remember visiting Madame Tussaud's.

I remember kissing one of the boys on the upper deck of the ferry, my first kiss. Nothing romantic or anything. It had been 'arranged' by one of my friends but all along it wasn't him I wanted to kiss but another boy. I avoided the poor boy for the rest of the trip (have you ever tried to avoid somebody on a bus? Well, I tell you it's not easy!). I remember kissing another boy (must have been the hormones!) and we stayed 'together' for the whole of 2 weeks after coming back. And I remember another boy who had developed feelings for me. For the whole trip (and another few years after, until I left France really), he was chasing after me. He was one of my best mates though and I wouldn't have destroyed our friendship. He offered me a teddy he'd won on Brighton Pier, a white seal. I still have it in my parent's house.

And I remember standing on Brighton Pier, clear as day, with that teddy and that song coming on. Whenever I hear it, I am back there, hormone fuelled teenagers on the bus, the smell of the sea, the seagulls above my head, first kiss and all. And my whole future ahead of me.

Back into the swing of things

I have to get back into the swing of things. I have to start writing again. I thought I'd gotten my voice back, but it looks like it was only one of those last breaths moments, you know, the ones that makes everybody jump in the movies. You think he's dead, but he's not. He still has enough energy to make you jump. That's how I felt for the past weeks. I posted a couple of times, Mr Foodie helped too. And then, blank, millions of subjects swarming in my head, but no way to express them. I couldn't find the words to let them out.


Mr Foodie took some time off, not because of my blogging crisis but because we had a million things to do. We had decided to rearrange the bedrooms. We were going to move the girls into our bedroom, we were to move into what was the spare bedroom and the little bedroom that used to be Marie's would become the spare bedroom. It took about 2 weeks and 4 trips to Ikea. But we did it. We bought a great unit with buckets for the girls bedroom. It seems to have taken ages to sort through Marie's toys. We took a bin full out of rubbish (broken toys, pieces of paper, old magazines half cut up, you name it, it was there). I turned the en suite bathroom (which is now located in the girls bedroom) into a sort of storage closet. That way they cannot reach for the taps, shower etc and do not risk flooding the house. Of course, all that moving of furniture created an incredible amount of dust which I cleaned up. Mr Foodie's mum decided to stay with us as his dad had gone away for the week end. Of course, the spare bedroom was nowhere near ready. So I took another trip to Ikea, on my own and bought a sofa bed. Which I loaded into the car on my own and put together on my own. And yes, Mr Foodie, I deserve a medal.

Noelie's first tooth cut through, quickly followed by her second one the next day and she is on the verge of crawling too. Mr Foodie's dad came over to paint the spare bedroom and the hall. As you can guess, more furniture moved, hence more dust around. So a lot of my time was spent cleaning top to bottom again. Last week was just a nightmare as you probably know from my previous post. And this week, well, this week I'm drained. I'm just tired. I have a creek in the neck for the past few days. I think that all the stress from the past few weeks is catching up on me. Stress at the amount of things to do. Stress at the amount of dust around. Stress about the judge's decision. Stress about Marie's reaction. Stress at trying to make the right decisions. Stress, stress, stress..

I haven't found my blogging mojo again and I've lost my cooking mojo too. Now that has to be serious. But I'll get through this. I will find both mojos again, sometime soon. In the meantime, I have decided to try and relax, to take things easy and try to look at the bright side of life. I have bought some books and I intend to lose myself in them for a bit. A bit of escapism has never hurt anybody. And I'm going to look after myself. Because if I don't look after myself, how can I look after other people. I'll be back, sooner rather than later. Back into the swing of things!

How do you cope with stress? How do you start the engine back again when you feel like you've stalled?

4 and a half minutes.

That's exactly the time it takes a judge to assess what the 'best interest' of a child is.

Yesterday, we went back to court. Noodlehead (as Marie calls him) wanted more access and to stop me from removing her from the country. If you remember, a couple of months back, I wrote this post. The plan was to ask her what she wanted to do. And so it happened and she said she didn't want to stay overnight. Wasted time as he'd gone and applied to the courts already.

So we went there yesterday. You are summoned to be in for 10h30, yet the judge doesn't bother appearing until 11h00. You go through the role call. And then you wait. Well, we didn't wait that long. Between 11h15 and 11h45, the judge had gone through about 10 cases. If you average it, it takes approximately 3 minutes to decide the fate of a child. That's all it takes.

I am frustrated, and defeated. I am terribly sad and angry.

I am frustrated because they just won't listen. It's like a self service cafeteria. The judge asked him what he was looking for, how much access he had at the moment. Then he asked me what I had to say to that. I told him that she doesn't want to go, that he asked her and that she denied. The judge cut me off and told me that she was only 7, and that if she said she told me that she didn't want to go to school, I would send her to school anyway. So that's what she has to be told, she has to go up there, end of. And went on to grant overnights every second week end. Oh and existing access still in place for the in between week. Which leaves me with what??? Well, it leaves me with this: 1 Sunday ever second week. If I were to work full time again, I would see my child 1 day every second week end. We rarely have a family week end as it is, since she goes there every Saturday. It's only when they cancel that we get to spend a whole week end together. Or, if my parents visit, which is about 3 times a year. And now, well, we'll get to spend family time one Sunday every 2 weeks.

How can a judge decide what is in the best interest of a child if he doesn't listen to them, if he doesn't listen to any argument at all? What kind of crystal ball does he have that allows him to know what the child is like, what effect his decisions have on a child, any child? Had she failed miserably at school, or developed some kind of unhealthy way of thinking, I couldn't even had put it across as he just DIDN'T WANT to listen. Is it normal for a 7 year old child to wish them all dead and express it? Is it normal for a 7 year old to express a will to crack people's head open? Because she does. She has said it to me on numerous occasions, more of late. We told her when we picked her up from school yesterday. She cried for 45 minutes. I feel like I failed her but I know I am not to blame. Judges just do not WANT to listen. It took him 4.5 minutes to 'hear' both sides and make a decision. Not even 4.5 minutes. I had to press to know where it would take place as there had been mentions of bed sharing. Small victory, it is to take place at his parents which he wasn't happy about.

People are treated like cattle. Children, although the decisions are meant to be for their best interest, are silenced, not given a voice. That judge turned up late and had to go through so many cases in the space of so many hours. There is no consideration for the children, for their feelings, for the long term effects, no consideration for the parents, no considerations for the ins and outs of things. No details to be discussed. No time for anything. A decision to be made, quickly, because there are another 20 cases to go through still.

What kind of long term effect will this have on her? What happens if you MAKE a child do something they do not want to do, every week over a period of time? It is terrible to think but I wish it could affect her to such an extend that her school work suffers, that she is affected deeply so I can have the tools to get her out of it. But then again, if I went back there to say this, would the judge LISTEN? My experience tells me that he wouldn't. He doesn't want to. So, no, I don't want her to suffer from it.

She told me this morning that she knows I did my best. It just broke my heart. She doesn't blame me, which is a good thing. But what best can I do, in the space of a few minutes? Did that judge realize that he was giving my child a day every second week to spend with our family at the week end, time when everybody can be together without work, school etc? He probably didn't even notice. He didn't bat an eyelid. Did he consider her feelings? Well, no, she has to be told that this is where she is going, end of. His words. So how is that in the best interest of the child, I ask you?

Did he even know the law? I bet you not, because when he was asked about the removing of the country, he said there was nothing he could do about that. Which is not true. I have looked into it, my mother has looked into it. It's called parental kidnapping if it's done without the other parent's consent, or the courts consent. And it's covered under the Hague Convention. So did he even know the law?

I have been crying since I got up this morning. I stayed strong in front of her and she told me that we would have to be strong. But it just breaks my heart to know that my child has been ordered away from me without any of her feelings acknowledged, without her voice being heard, without long term effects being considered. The best interest of a child in this country is just to disregard them as humans, and treat them as numbers. Don't know them, don't want to know them, don't want to listen to them. Second class citizens that do not have a voice and whoever speaks in their place is being silenced too. Her name was not spoken once in that room. Not once! She was merely a number, not even a number. She was not an individual in that room, she was not even a ghost in there. She had no place in there. That judge could have been talking about a puppy or a piece of furniture even, it would have felt the same. She was an object without feelings, without a voice. He made up his mind within less than a minute. Based on what? On thin air. On the need to make a decision because there was another 20 cases behind. That's probably what went on in his head. Make a decision, any decision. Go with what is asked. Don't look too much into it, it would last longer than 5 minutes and then you'd be there all day. Judges are being paid a small fortune to sit and make decisions. Their pay can not even be cut under the Irish constitution. In a criminal trial, the defendant has a voice, the victim has a voice, their families have a voice, they have a victim impact statement. In family court, the child, the one at the centre of the case, has no voice. There is no victim impact statement. The child is the victim of a hastily made decision. It's the judge's way or the highway.

My only consolation is that in the long run, forcing her to go there just makes her not want to go even more. When she is at an age when she is considered to be old enough to make her own decisions, she will make a decision. But what age is that? How old does she have to be to decide for herself?

This is the sad state of affair of the Irish family law at the moment. We were looking into options last night, impractical ones, stupid ones, even illegal ones. We are trying to come to terms with it, see what we can do. Mr Foodie is my rock. He is such a support. I don't know how to thank him. I know it is not easy for him either. He loves her with all his heart. But while I am just one for despairing for a bit and then act, he is one for action. I think Super Foodie is amongst us once again. We will get through this. We will protect her as much as we can. We will try and lessen the impact as much as we can. We will support her as much as we can. And we will listen to her, unlike the judges and the legal system in this country.

Mr Foodie: a virgin (no more)

During my 'dry spell' last week, Mr Foodie offered to write a guest post on my blog. So I thought today would be the day for him to take his first tentative steps into the world of blogging. So here goes, Mr Foodie's first ever blog post.

Hello all.! As Miss Foodie has already said, this is a guest post by Mr Foodie (Me). As you are aware from her post last week, she was struggling with her blog mojo and I was trying to give her some ideas. And then, it came to me: I can do a guest post on her blog. And I even had an idea of the way the post could go. I do enjoy to read her blog just before bed and give her my opinion on it (so far I don't think I've given her a negative one). Well, anyway, enough about that, I've come here to blog. And please, this is my first blog so be kind, however please leave your comments good or bad. And if I get a more good than bad, who knows I could return.

I've been thinking a lot of late about how the country has gone and how, when I was younger, my parents coped with it all. Then it hit me, they didn't spend as much as we do, and that is because they had recycled, or used the age old hand-me-down method which seemed to have worked. Now being an 80's child, some of the clothes, when I look back, were unreal and I'd never dress the girls the way I used to be dressed but then, it was the fashion at the time. I remember when my brothers (I'm the youngest with 5 years between my older brother and I) were about 11 and 9, my mum used to say 'I'm not throwing that out. That will do James in a year' and she was right, it did. However, the clothes in a year would not have been that much out of fashion, as they would be today. She would always do this, as she would have done with her sisters before her. I think it's how they were raised and, to be honest, it's how we were raised until that tiger roared like a mad cat swinging from a roof fan. We have all forgotten our childhood, I think, and the struggles we had growing up in working class Ireland. I was never in the hand-me-down club from my brothers. But I was from my cousin's and sometimes even neighbours who, any Irish person would tell you, were always a close knit bunch. I remember my neighbour calling to the door one day, and saying to my mum 'I've this lovely jumper for your little fella which ours has grown out of. He's only worn it about twice'. I remember thinking this: 'Great, I hope it's the superman one he has, or the he-man one.' But how wrong was I, it was a black jumper (hand knitted) with a ski slope, snow falling and a little man skying on it (yes, you're thinking what I was thinking at the time, no F&*$ing way am I wearing that!) but my mum said: 'Oh, that's great!'. And the next day I was sporting this around the streets of the North Side of Dublin.

Now thinking back, was it done because they were close knit in the area, or because the clothes were that nice we had to pass them on? And I've come to the answer: it was neither. It was because they just didn't have as much money as we would today. It's not sad to think about it that way, because I think they were happier times. Then came a slight hint of a boom, where people were paid more, people had nicer houses and more and more people had cars on the road, and this way of life started to disappear. We had forgotten our roots, so to speak. People had more money to spend on the clothes their kids wanted. More people wore Nike and Levis rather than the Dunnes or Penneys brands we had become used to (for non Irish, both of these would have been the cheaper side of the market jeans and runners or trainers for the Americans out there). We had started to become a country of snobbier people I think. Some of us had the 'I wouldn't dress my kids in other people's clothes' attitude. And, if given something and a tag wasn't on it, then we'd think: 'No way! He/she is not wearing that'. I think most of us would have been guilty of it, and I'm talking about people in their 30s and 40s out there, and some of our parents.

Then forward to when I was about 16, I hung out with mates who all had the same taste (as you do at that age). The same taste in clothes, style, music, hobbies and girls. We were the Oasis/Verve/indie semi long haired, battered old cord jeans, looking guys. We used to go into shops and see the new Levis on the rack and think: 'Jesus, I'm not wearing that!' And then go to the many many 2nd hand shops around the city centre, in search of tattered old flares, shirts which would have been worn in the late 70's and jackets my dad would wear on a date with my mum back in the day. I would have never classed these as hand-me-downs as I had paid for them. But thinking back to my mum receiving them from family or friends or vice-versa, they would always say: 'I'll get you a drink next time we're out' or drop them in something in return. So, in a way, the clothes were bought. So was I then, reverting back to the mid 80's, while buying these 2nd hand clothes, the only difference being that I didn't know the person who had owned them previously.

I loved shopping in shops because not only were the jeans, tops and jackets cheap but they had a story to them, much like the clothes we had received as kids.

But having said all of the above, I sometimes doubt whether the whole hand-me-downs had ever gone from society. I mean, the clothes side did but, during the Celtic boom, we still did it, without even knowing it. We would always hear of a sofa, or a chair, or table someone had and wanted to get rid of it for various reasons. 'Oh, it doesn't go with the new kitchen'. Or: 'Well we got that new 42inch flat screen telly and we have nowhere to put it. So do you know anyone who would want it?' And the answer was mostly the same, YES. There was people out there (myself and Miss Foodie included) who would have said: 'Yes we will have it' or even say 'No, but we know someone who will take it'. But, at the time, we didn't see it as a hand-me-down or whatever you would like to think of it as. Because the first thing we said was: 'ahh, I'll get you a drink for that or we'd give something in return for it'.

Since Noelie was born, we had got present after present, most of which were 0-3 months. And it was just impossible to use it all without letting her wear one outfit a day. And then leave it in a drawer, gathering dust. We used a lot of clothes for her, and had used some of them just 3 or 4 times before they had to go in that dust gathering drawer because she had outgrown them. And then, one day, we cleared out 3 drawers of clothes, some of which had not even been worn with the tags on them and thinking what are we going to do with them???? Shall we throw them out? 'NO, came Miss Foodie, we can keep them up for the next one'. Ive 3 girls already at home and no way will the next be another girl. I'm getting a boy. Hold on a minute. What do you mean next one !!!!! Yes, she said the next one, although we just had this one here! Brand new, only a few months old. Then it came to me, we can keep them up and speak to my mum who knows the world and its mother. She said she would take them and see if she knew someone she could give them too. Then we heard the news, my oldest brother's partner was expecting.Then came the call from mummy: 'Hold on to them clothes till we see if it's a girl or a boy'. Then 6 months later ,we found out through the wonders of scans, it was a girl. So we had them packed and said that we would drop them over some time. And today was that time, when Miss Foodie came out of the shower, dressed and ready to go, she was faced with an almighty sight on the sitting room floor. All the clothes, booties, changing mats and even the baby bath, all sitting there in front of her. 'Baby, what are you doing? We just cleaned up the place'. To which I replied: 'I'm sending these to mum's for my brother's partner'. And her face suddenly turned into a happy one. Then tonight, after we got home, my mum called and said that she had given my brother's partner first pick of the clothes and the rest had gone to a neighbour's niece who had just had a baby. I was thrilled she had managed to give the clothes to people, not only because we had more room in the house, but because I had, in my old little way, helped bring the age old tradition of hand-me-downs back to life.

I'm not sure what people will think of this post. I'm not like Miss Foodie when it comes to writing or reading books. I'm more of a music and DVD man myself. But I hope it brings back memories to some of you and that most of you will like it.

Mr Foodie
Virgin Blogger (or is that now ex virgin blogger?).

So what do you think? Did you get hand-me-downs? Do you think we have become too snobby about it? Feel free to comment! Mr Foodie would love to hear your views. And how about getting your significant other / best friend / other virgin blogger to write a guest post?