With a baby on way and Little Lady all of two years old burning calories faster than pillagers burn Amazon rainforest, how tough can "upgrades" really be?

Ever since we bought house, my wife has been urging me to tear "that thing" down.

"That thing", at foot of our lane, had been a shelter to keep kids dry while waiting for school bus. It had seen better days. Like when paint could still be seen on wood. Like when it stood upright – taller even than weeds! – before gravity won battle.

"That thing" was our very own Roman ruins ... minus Roman part, of course. So I finally tore it down.

"What?" my wife asked. "You tore it down?"

"Yup."

"But how will people find us, now?"

We had used "that thing" as a marker, even a beacon. "Turn right on County Road 7, and just keep going until you see eyesore. You can't miss it. That's us."

Houses grow and age just like people. Sometimes old gets in way of new. Sometimes you have to rip things apart to build them up.

Recently, I was ripping apart a couple walls of soon-to-be nursery. I assured my wife it would be a two- to four-hour job. To avoid inhaling an overdose of plaster dust, she and Little Lady escaped to exile at Grandma's for afternoon.

Twelve hours later ...