The Handyman's Daughter

When my handy father built my bedroom in the basement of our family home, I was a teenager full of ideas and creativity. I adored that room, with its red carpet, black and white striped bedding, and more swimming award ribbons than I cared to count hanging by their strings from the drop ceiling tiles.

Now I finally have a home of my own, filled with potential. Sure, the kitchen is a blue monstrosity straight out of the 1980's, and the basement looked more like a dance studio than a cozy family room. But I am slowly turning our house into our perfect home, with a bit of help from my handy father on speed dial.