Waiting

In my garden this week I have peas, lots and lots of lovely mange tout peas at the moment. One minute they were teeny seeds that I sowed, with a small tinge of doubt and a lot of hope.  Over the months they slowly developed without my full knowledge or acknowledgement, beautiful white flowers were the only sign that they were happy and content in the sun with their roots in the soil. 

Suddenly I have these beautiful peas.

But are they ready to pick? Should I eat them as they are, crisp and fresh, or wait just a little while longer for them to fatten and to see what further delights Mother Nature has to offer me?

My lady number one is now a week and a day past her hospital-imposed due date. She's doing fine. She's well and the baby is happy, but he's just not quite ready to come to meet her. 

He's a cute, tender little mange tout right now and give him a couple more days he'll fatten and also have a sweet and tender tiny pea in the middle that will make his mama draw breath every time she sees it, and she'll be glad, so glad that she waited because in that moment, the world stands still.

Nature is the boss. Time is the essence. Together they are the perfect combination. Mess with things and the bitterness creeps in.

That is all for today apart from a few photos from around the garden: 

sweet peas

Blue Agapanthas

North Star, white agapanthas

Purple Sprouting broccoli from which we ate our first portion on Sunday - delicious!

Colourful chard, ripe for the picking very soon.

 

and "sweet" Pippin. Not remotely for eating, but growing as fast as the crops.

D'ya want Pitocin with that?

Have you noticed recently how much American stuff seems to be slipping into UK markets? I'm not just talking about the fact that you can buy Nerds in the local sweet shop here (yeah, don't tell my kids!), but such names as Krispy Kreme are beginning to roll off the tongues of the Brits as if we were talking pear drops or mint humbugs. There is a Subway on every corner too! I really noticed this today and last week when looking for somewhere to grab a sandwich. What has happened to the little independent delis that gave us choice over our bread, our filling, crusts on or off, butter, mayo etc. If "choice" has become limited by the few things on the standardised menu which can be found uniformly in every town across the UK, what message is that sending out?

But I'm not writing a blog entry about sandwiches or chocolate (I probably could write one on the latter). I'm naturally writing about birth. What started out as something that could have done wonders for the birthing culture; what began as something where directors had the power to change the way birth is envisaged; has become a carcrash soap opera. Directors had every opportunity to normalise birth, however, the power of the media saw an investment. The success of OBEM* (that acronym on is the lips of a good portion of pregnant women, midwives, doulas, childbirth teachers and parents in the UK) has now become as appalling and stereotyped a reality show as Geordie Shores or Made in Chelsea. How, because we are now being broadcast the same show from across the pond. OBEM USA! Whoop de do! Excuse me for my lack of enthusiasm!

Now these same pregnant women are subjected to watching the American model, yes, I will use that term and many of my US friends and colleagues will back me up on that,  because that is exactly what it is for the most part in the US hospitals; a sterile, directed, organised template for women to slot neatly into. Birth will happen in hospital, in lithotomy position and if you don't fit that American model, you'll get "Pit- ed"**.

My job now as a doula and even more so as an antenatal teacher is now made twice as hard. Rather than starting from a position of just helping women realise they are able to ask questions, consent to or refuse various things, information gather and be independent thinkers and choice makers. Now I have to allay new fears, that the midwife will be on their side and not ready to shoot them up with a dose of pitocin if they so much as take a quick nap, that generally they won't have their legs in stirrups or people shouting like cheerleaders from the side lines all whilst shining lights that would impress Captain Kirk up their fanny. That their birth won't be over managed, rather like a processed food, with all the goodness and nutrients taken out to ensure that the end product is quick and easy for the outsider to manage.

Having been present at many births on both sides of the Atlantic I do see some traits from the technocratic model seeping slowly into the British birthing culture.
Cynical as I may be but this particular sketch springs to mind. From 1983 none the less, but the number of births I witnessed similar to this in the US is disturbing.



Ironically, it's British and presumably, at the time, meant to be farcical.


I see more women now who see consultants than ever I used to. Currently I have one woman who is being told that, despite two negative results for Group B Strep, she should have antibiotics...why? Another woman is being told that she'll "need" a caesarean section,  and not be able to have her planned VBAC. When she questioned this, was told the usual story about her scar rupturing. This is a well informed lady. She was, luckily, able to throw some figures back at her consultant to show the minimal risk of this happening, she was then told that her baby would be too big for her to birth. Which is it for one thing?

So what can be done? How can we stop the invading shadow of the likes of OBEM USA becoming the future generations' perception of "normal birth"? I don't see the fear or the acceptance of interventions without challenge in mums having their second or third babies. These mothers realise they are powerful and that their bodies can birth. They realise that in a low risk normal birth, there is nothing to be fearful of and that the baby will be born when it's born. A first time mum, however, has no previous experience of her own to draw from so she gets her ideas from the media, her friends and family.

Back in March this year I asked Ina May Gaskin this very question:

"How, in a world where we most women interpret "normal" birth by what they see in the media and from "horror" stories, can we empower women to trust in their bodies and trust birth for the first birth, not the second or third?"

And her answer was that it starts with women telling their stories, spreading the word. Women need to tell the story of their normal births and not be embarrassed because their friend had a c-section and she had a straightforward birth.  I personally, had an epidural, an augmentation and a ventouse with my first child. I think it must have been hearing the stories of the one or two women in my antenatal group that told their stories of their normal births that made me realise for my second child, things could and would go very differently and that may be down to me doing things differently as well. Don't feel guilty because you birthed your baby with no pain relief or that you weren't induced or that...you even enjoyed it with a euphoric sense of achievement and pride. If you tell that story to even one person, you may change things. Perhaps you can tell the story to your daughters and then to your granddaughers. Tell it to your sons and grandsons so they can tell their wives and partners. Pass the word. We can change the world, one birth at a time.


*One Born Every Minute
** Pitocin in the US or Syntocinon in the UK - both of which are artificial synthetic oxytocin.

Fruits of my labour

I think it's time for a little update around the house:

I've been attempting to find ways to ensure that the three strawberries that my 16 or so plants produce this year are not eaten by the nesting pigeons in the tree above the strawberry patch. So on Sunday decided to create my own defense system. The words "cobbling together" really don't do the appalling carpentry justice. Let's just say, if any bird manages to get through the chicken wire, it's likely to die horribly, impaled on one of the gazillion nails that "missed" when I was attempting to bash them through. However, if it lasts a couple of seasons, then it's worked (not the bird that is!)

So this is a slightly better piece of joinery! I've made another raised bed. Realising that they are silly money in the shops and I could make one myself for less, this is a really basic bed. I think it will be my lettuce bed next year, but I feel compelled to plant more radishes today after trying the first of our season's booty this morning.

This is all that remains as I had it for breakfast. It is a reminder that, despite feeling like one radish really won't feed the 5000, there is a reason as to "why" I grow lots of veg. Sinead O'Connor basically sang about* why growing your own veg is superior to shop bought ;-) (and if you press the link and you're my age - you'll be whizzed back to late night parties in Becky's house during sixth form years!!)

*okay, so she wasnt' "actually" singing about vegetables - but then I suppose it depends who you dated !

This shot shows the whole of the plot. It's really hard to show how it looks now in comparison to February when I started and it was just an overgrown mass of weeds. I'm really chuffed.

Some rather marvellous bounty all shiny and red - well, okay, a bit green too - but we're holding out for enough mixed berries to make something with on Sunday!

Painted the front door. Now all I have to do is cut back the triffid that is wisteria to ensure that we can actually get in and out of the house and there isn't a Sleeping Beauty's castle situation.

And when it gets cold or rains, I can retreat to my nice fire (I keep showing this don't I?!) and the sunny batik we brought back from Kenya last year that we've finally had framed. The perfect place I think.

As for the rest of the week. It's been a bit of a mixed bag of emotions. I've been frustrated with things going missing in the mail, both things I've sent recently AND stuff that's been sent to me. One of those things was all the important forms that I need to fill in and send back for uni. So I've been printing off ridiculous amounts of paper from websites instead to ensure I have all I need.Of course, the printer hasn't wanted to play ball, so there has been much cursing and wasted paper in the process.

I've then been tracing my medical notes as I need my immunisation records and need them signed.... However, somewhere between leaving the surgery in Edinburgh and moving down here and registering, the notes are "in transit" and that is as much as anyone can tell me. Of course the whole thing could be a bit of a moot point as I doubt my notes of 1973 will show my immunisations, despite the fact that I have a piece of paper with some vaccinations recorded from 1980ish. That's the problem of being a dinosaur!
I'm also finding it hard being a lone parent in the week. It seems so long until each weekend. Then, like happened this week, the electrician stops by to do a couple of things but unearths a plethora of other problems, some of which are dangerous...

I've also discovered that it's highly likely that one of my six weeks of holiday from uni will be changed to suit the school holidays. Which, in a normal year, would actually be great and, from a less selfish perspective is more practical. However, Mr Beehive and I had organised for my mum and dad to look after the kids whilst they were still in school and he and I were going to New York and back to Wilton for my fortieth for a few days. Now that's gotta be kyboshed!

Finally to top the week off, I learned that one of the teachers from the children's old Montessori school in the USA had succumb to cancer. She was only 50 and a wonderful lady. Full of life and vitality. Her youngest is Master Beehive the younger's age. Terribly sad.

On the upside though, a couple of school friends had been making plans behind my back to come to visit me. They  managed to reduce me to (happy) tears this week. I was so excited to get a note in my inbox to say that they were coming with their boys to spend a day with us here at The Beehive. I haven't seen either of them for...a long old time...too long! So that made me feel quite loved and gave me the kick up the arse required. Thanks Lynn and Becks xxx

Learning about Kristen and reading the blog of another of my friend's battling cancer at the moment makes me put everything in perspective. So if you have a few more moments, I'd just like to introduce someone to you:

This is Charisse.

Charisse made me cry the first time I really was introduced to her (seriously, there isn't a reccurrent theme with me and friends that make me cry- honestly!).

Not many of my friends do that. 

She had taken photographs of our children at the Montessori school that we were privileged to watch on a big screen during an parent/teacher evening early in the school year in 2005. In front of me and Mr Beehive was a picture of each of my boys in huge 10ft by 10ft black and white.
Raw, unchanged imagery of the insides of my boys' characters. This woman is SO remarkable that I swear she takes her photos of kids from the inside out. You don't just see the exterior, the blonde hair, blue eyes, you see what they are thinking, how they were learning, what emotions certain things manifest in them.

When I first met Charisse, she had just been undergoing treatment for non-hodgkins lymphoma. All her beautiful hair had come out and she was wearing a scarf. I remember her distinctly because I hadn't even noticed her hair, I noticed her eyes, the laughter on her face and the scarves - she had some cool scarves ;-)

When she was well, she would always be in school with her camera, capturing internal images of our children. Anyone can take a photo, but with Charisse's there is something more to them, something that actually makes you feel that you can reach out and shake the hand of the child in her picture or give them a hug, something that may even make you go home and look at your child in a different light as there is something there that you didn't notice before, something that Charisse and her camera are only let into, rather like being granted permission to step into a child's imagination just for a moment.
When she wasn't taking photos she would be laughing. I can actually hear her laughing even after two years of being away from Wilton. She has such a beautiful face that radiated the love that she has for life, her love, David and her boys.

So, I'm not going to grumble about the paperwork, the missing medical notes, the stupid wires that have been wired up wrong or the fact that during the week I don't have my Mr Beehive with me.

Charisse would use her coined phrase "Wasa" to put everything in perspective.

Wasa means "already done"
For Charisse, the power of this word is a message to her cancer that it is done with, gone. She will fight this and win.
For me, this week, I shall use Wasa to mean that life is what it is and what will be in it, will be. Tomorrow is a new day and yesterday and much of today is already done and there is little if not anything I can do to change it, just work with it.

Next time I have a crappy week, I shall take strength from Charisse, play this song and breathe a few Wasa's out into the air...maybe there'll be enough power in my energy to transmit some vibes to Charisse as well.

Wasa.

Be the change.

Yesterday I enjoyed the company of fellow colleagues. We had a "meeting" in the sunshine a top a beautiful vantage point in the Oxfordshire countryside. Apart from the birds and her aberrant neighbour shooting his gun at delayed intervals, all was well with the world!

Over a lunch of fresh salad leaves with fresh eggs from one colleague's garden, falafels and tzatziki from mine, soup from another, the question arose as to why I wanted to become a midwfe.

It's not a question I've not toyed with over and over and, because I am a hugely reflective person, will again, many times.

Why become a midwife when you're a doula? Why put yourself through it? In many respects I have it far better. I can be with women one to one from the beginning to the end, knowing that I have no medical responsibility for them and therefore, am not going to be hauled over the coals for something as long as I'm sensible and stick to basic rudementary guidelines and, more importantly, my own intuition. At the end of the day, the parents tend to thank me for what I've done and tell me how they couldn't have done it without me. Okay, well they could have, and would have, but that's a story for another day.

So why am I about to embark on three years of potentially removing all these options from my care. I won't be "with woman" from beginning to end. I will be more restricted with my choices and autonomy may be a word I struggle to bring into my care. My every move will be documented and monitored and if I miss to record even one contraction, it could be the last mistake I ever make. I may not have time to be with that woman from the minute she comes into the hospital to the minute she leaves and rubbing her back may only occur whilst I'm simultaneously caring for two or three other women. Ridiculous eh?

But actually, no!

I have always been very fond of Gandhi's statement "Be the change you want to see in the world" and I feel that midwives get short shrift over everything. Yes, there are some crappy midwives out there and sadly, as with any profession with a few crappy ones but the majority wonderful, it tends to be the tales of the crappy ones that pave the way for the rest. I honestly know that if I want to help to change birth experiences in the UK then I need to be a part of the closest force to that that I can be. I need to be "on the frontline" so to speak.

I don't have a "god complex", nor do I feel that I am a pseudo super-hero (although I do like this terminology, thanks Charlotte ;-) I just know there are better ways to do this than many of the stories I hear and I know that I can sit and bemoan it, or get in there and try, in a minimal way, to help change things. I also feel supported that there are many other women who are moving into midwifery now who feel the same way as I do. Perhaps the Mexican wave is coming?

I also have an interminable desire to learn and there is a huge lure towards the knowledge side of things, particularly to enhance my teaching skills. Of course, I don't have to put myself through three years of a degree to do this, that's just the surface.

I also know that much as I believe in the art of being able to be "hands off" as a midwife, as a doula there is more of an element of "hands tied". I can see things sometimes that I know I wouldn't do or have done as a midwife and then I have to sit back and watch my internally forecasted predictions unfold before my eyes. As much as I can suggest as a doula, make my clients aware of the pros and cons, the decision has to be theirs. Of course, as a midwife, I can't insist that the parents do as I say, nor should I want to, but the reality is that if I don't suggest breaking someone's waters to speed up a perfectly normal and healthy, if a little hesitant, labour, then it won't happen. As a doula, if a midwife suggests it, my clients may well choose to do it, regardless of my thoughts, because it has been suggested by the midwife and there is a feeling that it "must be for the best". It's hierachical. Naturally, as a US doula, I saw that more there than I do in the UK.

Last but not least, I think I'm lucky! Of course, I'm lucky to have a supportive family who can help me so I can do this, lucky that they love me and believe in me enough to know I'll make them all proud. I'm lucky that I got a place on a highly over subscribed course and I'm lucky that I am still wearing my rose tinted specs and feel that NHS politics won't get rid of me (they may get me down at times) and that my vision to provide one-to-one care from beginning to end, in the comfort of a birth centre or the mother's home is on the road to being fulfilled.

But most of all, I'm lucky that I AM a doula. I'm lucky that I have had six years of learning what a woman needs and how her emotions need to be met and what really is important, when push comes to shove (no pun intended!). I'm lucky that I can and bloody well will, put this essential part of caring for a labouring mother into practice as a midwife. I can be her sole carer, I can stop all the clocks and make her and her partner the most important people on the planet so that her birth experience, with the best of natures blessings, will be the best of her life.

So, there you have it.

Enjoy your day x

Planes, trains and automobiles!

It's awfully quiet around here today. There are no men putting holes in my walls or roof,  there's no au pair (not that she was ever loud!) and I only have one child having packed the older two off to a residential school trip for three days. What to do eh?

It does rather compensate for the weekend we've had. Firstly Mr Beehive's train was delayed due to something or other...probably rain *sigh*, so I had to go to Birmingham to pick him up at 9.30pm on Friday night. Then the teenager left for Germany, so she had to be taken to the airport for 5.30am, so back we went! It proceeded to rain ALL DAY on Saturday which was miserable and meant the jobs we'd planned for outside, couldn't be done and the washing got whiplash what with the schizophrenic on the line, off the line. The kids and Mr Beehive went to see Horrible Histories in Oxford and had sushi, I'd also got a ticket but realised that it was asking a lot of the puppy to stay home for what could have amounted to six hours and not poop all over the kitchen. So, I got to stay home and stand in the rain every two hours coercing a 10 week old puppy to poop on demand - oh yay!
Sunday appeared to be a little better although it still rained all day. However after dropping Mr Beehive back at the station at 6, I got a phone call to say...guess what...the train was delayed, so I had to go to bloody Brum again.

Then there were the flies. Whilst the rest of the family were enjoying the Romans being utterly gruesome and ruthless, I was having my own battle with something from return of the living dead. After dropping them at the station, I ran a few quick errands and returned home. I opened the door to the sound of not one, but about 40 flies! The skylights were crawling with them. No, before you asked there was no missed poop that had brought about this infestation. In fact, I have no idea. The only thing I can think of is that we have a section of roof over the cooker hood missing and whether or not a colony (is that what you call a collective of flies? perhaps a nightmare would be more suitable) had hatched from somewhere under the floorboards upstairs that we'd disturbed on the removal of this panel? Either way, I had to push the pups into the wet garden whilst I fumigated and then proceeded to vacuum up the black winged rain falling from the ceiling! Bah!
On the puppy front, we're making progress (although I may have just signed my own death warrant here). She gets most of her business outside and Meggie even played "with" her today and they tug of war-ed with humpy duck. Meggie is the Sharpay of the dog world, she likes things just so and isn't much of a playful dog. She loves nothing more than to snuggle up. She probably would have been better as a cat. So for her, the transition has been surprising. She makes it known when she's had enough of her face being licked by the puppy and won't share her food until she's only got dregs left but, heck...I think that's okay to stand your ground and the puppy is beginning to learn where the boundaries are!
The puppy is still bemused when Meggie is allowed to sit on the sofa in the lounge but she is relegated to the floor. She is not to know that she'll be 50lbs in a few months and built like the proverbial brick s**t house! She'll get there eventually though!

It is quite odd the boys and Mr Beehive not being here. They've never both been on sleepaway camp at the same time. Master Beehive the younger has done a weekend scout trip as has the elder Beehive, but both separately. I had been rankling with them about packing, they wanted to pack as soon as they bought the letter home from school and I, being the boring, kill joy parent, felt this slightly premature (yes, even for me and my love of packing weeks in advance!) Of course, the most important thing on the list was the fact they are allowed to bring a packet of sweets, so naturally this had to be bought a fortnight ago and admired from afar. Being the mean mother I am, I insisted they could look at them on the windowsill in the kitchen rather than "storing them for safe keeping" in their bedrooms...you know how that goes, don't you...months later you find sweet wrappers behind the bed and under the mattress...but of course...it wasn't them that ate them.

Do you have one of those fairies in your house? It's the one that doesn't flush the chain or leaves toilet paper on the floor, the one that eats the last chocolate mousse without asking or finishes the orange juice but leaves the empty carton in the fridge, the one that definitely hung up his/her uniform but it obviously fell off the hanger, through the closed wardrobe door and onto the floor! You will have one of these fairies if the immediate response from all of your children is "it wasn't me!"

 Tomorrow, as long as I don't get "the call" to go to a birth, I'm meeting with some local NCT teachers for lunch, so I've been trying out a new recipe for falafels and tzatziki. Hopefully it'll taste alright, and if it does, I'll post you a new recipe later in the week.

Right now I'm off to have words, as our "fairy" bumped the car on the gate post again yesterday (just to perfect her weekend!) cos...it wasn't me...ooops!

Around the Garden

Inspired by Farmama's amazing blog and idea of having an "around the farm/garden" record of our progress during the season, here is what's been happening in my garden this week

First of the redcurrants are ripening.

Beautiful fat gooseberries, ripe for the picking this weekend

Peas on their way.

Beautiful lavender heads, they're a creamy white with a purple flower below.

It's very small, but I have an elderflower bush in my garden. I'm so happy!

This is the first of the numerous gladioli bulbs I planted. Oh yay!

 .

Of course, my blog wouldn't be complete if I didn't show you the mess that is inside as well.

I do the "smashing" of the tiles!

Then my lovely assistant comes behind me and "makes good"

What's happened in your garden this week?

Welcome to the House of Fun!!

We have a new addition to the house, the one I alluded to in an earlier post. Pip is a yellow lab from working farm dog parents and she's just nine weeks old right now.

It's not madness or the burning desire to never sit still that's brought me to a decision to acquire another demanding mouth to feed, but the fact that Meggie will be on her own a bit more in September when I start at uni and we (or rather I, as I'm pretty sure Mr Beehive will agree that he didn't have too much say in the matter!) felt she could do with some company. I am also liking the idea that she is a larger dog so hopefully can be a good deterrent for foxes and 'Oil Burglars"!!

Anyway, so far, things are tentatively okay. She seems to be doing really well with house training, all poops and pee has been in the garden, bar one, and I'm actually crediting Meggie with some of that teaching. She's a bit of a chewer, so I have the "no chew" on all my chair and table legs and she's being given many alternatives - funny how none of them taste as nice as my crocs though!

The harmony between the two dogs is neutral at the moment, Meggie has never been a "playful" type of dog. I throw balls for her and she'll play for a short while, then grow bored, preferring to roll on her back and have me stroke her all day. Pip, obviously wants to play and barrels herself full force into Meg. This is currently not such a problem, in a month or two when she is twice Meg's size, could cause injury, so we're trying to teach her to find the balance. Meg, when not so appreciative of having her face licked or chewed is telling her so. I think they'll work it out!

Reluctant peace!

So, the floor sanding dust is on it's way out, although, I have a layer in my car - presumably from returning the sander to the store! and now we start on tiling. I have half a bathroom to remove of tiles, along with probably half the plasterboard, and then my lovely handyman will be re-tiling once the shower is in.


On other news, I had my first salad yesterday from the leaves in the garden-  most delicious too. I am not entirely sure what types of leaves I had, there was some rocket, some that was like a Pak Choi, I added some chives and some basil - true mix of tastes, then put in some goat's cheese and cranberries and a softly boiled egg, adding a balsamic dressing. It was truly yummy, even more special that it came out of the garden!



So new puppies, pile of mess, bathroom disaster zones - may as well kill as many of those damned birds as possible and eat them with lettuce leaves to boot !

Surfacing through the dust!

It would appear that we're making progress, dusty, slow, but steady progress.

We now have the Ecocent system up and running and it's quiet (that's a plus!).

We have two out of the three showers installed and the bathroom floor is no longer a scary combination of white plasti-paint and sand!

We have been asked lots of questions about it from people who are also interested in the potential from this system. How does it work? How long will it take to pay for itself? Is it expensive? Why have we done it?

So, I'll answer them for you within this blog entry, bearing in mind that my ability to "do technical" tends to be in the same place as my ability to follow a recipe!

The Ecocent is basically a very large hot water tank in the roof that also has a smaller device attached above that is connected to a couple of extractors in our various bathrooms. Each time we shower (which with six people, is a lot) the extractor takes the hot steam produced up through the tubing and this then is used to heat the hot water tank. Added to this will be the Photovoltaic panels on the roof that will also help to heat the water, we should be able to run almost oil free for the majority of the year, not only turning off our heating (which we would normally do in the summer), but turning the water to minimum too as we should require minimal oil to heat the tank. Obviously it does require a well insulated loft so that it remains at a fairly constant temperature all year round.

Stand alone, the eco cent takes many years to pay for itself. Mr Beehive, being the nerdy, financial geek he is, showed me all the figures in a spreadsheet once. I think I may have glazed over and started seeing my life flash before me, but I recall hearing 19 years. This is a long time, stand alone, however, with the PV's, it should start to pay back after nine.

Yes, it is expensive. However, it is a long term investment. It's not always about the instant gratification and our beliefs are, whether you agree or not, that oil is a becoming a more and more scarce resource, it is currently very expensive and we feel that by doing this we are not only trying to reduce our fuel bills, which should start to show after 10 years (this is our "forever home" too remember), but we are hopefully reducing one family's use of this form of fuel.

I suppose this also answered the last question, but I also wanted to add this when asked if we're doing it "to be green"?

It’s a bizarre label isn’t it, “green”.
I hope one day there will come a time when there is no label, when hopefully my kids don’t think twice about “being green” because it’s just a natural thing.
I don’t really call myself green because I feel what I do is a natural extension from having children we are trying to live for a  sustainable future. I am genuinely concerned for life in 2070.

I already worry about their futures, will they get to college? If they get to college will they get a job? Will they have shit loads of debt and will they ever get out of the rental market before they reach the care home? I really don't want to add to that by using up more than we genuinely need to use, providing them with a large landfill to live on in their rented shoebox and by not using local produce, supporting local shops or growing my own, in order to make their only job option when they leave with their excellent 2:1 degree and several thousands of pounds worth of debt, a shelf stacker in the only remaining global conglomerate - Messers Tescos and sons and sons and sons who may have succeeded in world domination by 2070.

I guess the only bright side is that, by 2070 I won't care about the dust, in fact, I'll probably be a contributing factor in the layers ;-)