This old house...is killing us

Our oldest came home around 7am from a lock in at church and was exhausted. Big duh statement. The rest of the morning and early afternoon, we walked the fine line of how long to let her sleep before it messed up her chances of sleeping tonight. We reached the point during the afternoon that we knew she needed to be up, but she couldn't do it. Enter in Bob Vila, no, Norm Abram or Tom Silva. Bob Vila did more hosting and Bob and Tom did the real work. Armed with a Sawz All and a Dremel on steroids...and a couple big hammers and chisel things, we went to work on trying to remove the lovely yellow tile in our downstairs bathroom:




After twenty minutes of beating and chiseling and power tooling, this was all we had accomplished:



This was not good. At all. The upside was that S was wide awake and not too pleased. Oh well. We tried for another chunk of time and realized we were either going to have to rethink our strategy or start checking the yellow pages for tile guys. We then went around to the pantry that is also in a state of construction and started swinging a surveyor's sledge hammer on the other side. After the week I had, visualization of guilty parties and the strong arms of myself and the hub produced this:



After several hours of whacking plaster and mesh, knocking dust out of my hair and sweeping up crud, we had about 3/4 of one wall done. At least we got that done. I do have one request: if you happen to see me tomorrow and I need to reach something on a high shelf or get the lid off of something, please help me. My arms kind of hurt a lot right now. I imagine they will be worthless tomorrow. Feel free to laugh. It will be entertaining. I'm going to take my ibuprofen now. Night all.
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