Seth and Kenya are getting even radder. They now build houses. Or at least small cabins. They are transforming my garage from a dank shed with a hole-in-the-ceiling and dead chicken feathers on the ground to a wood paneled studio with a gas stove and french doors. At the crack of two they arrive, snacks in hand, ipod blasting from Kenya's pocket. My weekdays are suddenly much more fun now that I can take my lunch into the backyard and bother them.