I get lot of home design books to review. They flutter into my mailbox like homing pigeons to roost.

A few weeks ago, I was only two mouse clicks away from ordering my family room sectional. Or so I thought.

Big as in if I make a mistake, there’s no hiding it behind a potted plant.

“Honey,” I say, “the words ‘just’ and ‘white’ don’t belong in the same sentence.”

The minute my daughter got the keys to her new house in Texas, she began asking how soon I could fly out to help her decorate.

Only one problem: I didn’t know the first thing about buying a lawnmower.

Teepees and tents, lofts and ladders, playhouses and pirate ships. My inner child is in overdrive as I imagine what I would want...

The house guests came. They ate. They slept. They laughed. They cried. They used dozens of towels.

My new shower caddy is life changing.

“Honey, I’d like you to meet the man who saved our marriage,” I say introducing DC to Tony.