We are turning into peasants. I think it hit me when I first mastered wearing a baby on my back. With a baby in a cute little front pack you can be a hip urban mom out for a stroll and shopping. With a baby on your back, doing household chores, you're a peasant.
Then there's our diet: bread or porridge and eggs for breakfast (OK, rich peasants); potatoes for lunch; soup and bread for supper. Easy, cheap, filling, and nutritious. I haven't quite resorted to packing raw turnips in DOB's lunch, but it's only a small step.
The ducklings run about outside barefoot in all kinds of weather, usually with a fair spattering of mud. Our back yard is in transit between a patch of mown grass and a wild jumble of garden and mud. Those scenes in the movies where the lady from the Estate visits her humble tenants--the ones with the baby screaming in the background--are starting to look familiar.
We're not about to add animals to the mix. I refuse to wear peasant blouses. And I'm not giving up electricity voluntarily. But I think we should keep a sharp lookout for visits from witches and the Big Bad Wolf.