The Day That Didn’t Go as Planned
Today is not going as planned. I sat down fully intending to share our kitchen progress, but instead I’m taking a quick detour to talk about contractors. If you’ve been around here for a while, you already know I’m no stranger to hiring people to work on our home. We bought this house in 2013, and I’ve met my fair share of characters since then—some better than others, all with their own quirks and personalities, all human, like me. I just wish more of them would follow through and do what they say they’re going to do. You know? It should not be this complicated.
The Contractor Carousel: Our Hunt Begins
When we started this little kitchen adventure, we genuinely considered hiring the whole thing out and letting one person handle everything. That sounded dreamy. One person. One phone number. One point of contact. The contractor unicorn I’ve been chasing for over a decade.
I always tell people—and I will say it again—call in at least three contractors. Getting multiple perspectives is the only way to truly understand what your project needs. One person’s idea is not gospel. When you talk to several people, suddenly the project looks different, and you begin to see options you didn’t know you had.
Trust me, I study these folks. I watch their Facebook pages, their photos, their reviews, how they speak to customers, and especially how they handle criticism. I have unliked more pages than I can count simply because of how they interacted with people. That alone tells you everything.
This time around, I already had a short list. I was tired—tired of the revolving door of workers, tired of retelling our story, tired of chasing people down. I just wanted one reliable person we could call for everything. And for any contractors reading this: wouldn’t that be the dream? You become the person for a homeowner and, suddenly, you’ve got work lined up for years because they tell everyone they know. That’s how this business grows. It’s a ripple effect—one happy customer turns into hundreds.
But here in Fairfield County, Ohio? No one seems interested in adopting this model. I’ve been trying to find “my person” since 2013. Guess what: still haven’t found them.
Paint drips, losing tempers, no follow through, shoddy work—none of this earns a call-back. So yep, I was back on the hunt.
Jerry and the $60,000 Sticker Shock
We’ll start with the first guy—let’s call him Jerry.
I called and spoke with his wife to set up an appointment. Before she would even put him on the schedule, she told me their kitchen projects start at $20,000, and she wouldn’t send him out unless I agreed to that number. Their top-tier kitchen? Around $50k—with all new cabinets and bells and whistles.
Fine. I agreed. We set the appointment.
Jerry shows up, walks in staring at his clipboard, doesn’t look up, doesn’t introduce himself—nothing. Just marches straight through the foyer into our dining room like he’s late for an unhappy appointment. Great start, right?
I explained what we wanted: a vintage kitchen, reusing our existing cabinets, keeping the charm this house came with. What I didn’t tell him (but I had already researched) is that our cabinets are surprisingly high-end. Based on the maker’s mark, to recreate them today would cost around $20,000–$40,000. Maybe more. And I don’t know about you, but the thought of spending $40k replacing something that’s perfectly good—and better quality than most new stuff—makes me want to scream. Plus, $40k for cabinets is certainly not in our budget.
But here’s the thing: no one really wants to reuse cabinets anymore. Most every single contractor we talked to wanted to rip everything out. We're not on HGTV, this isn't demo day. Smash, crash, goodbye history, no thank you. I’m over it. At the very least if you want new, donate the old cabinets to Habitat for Humanity. Somebody will love them.
Jerry took notes, told us they’re “typically the company people call for projects like this,” and announced that our 3/4" pine tongue-and-groove subfloors would be just fine as kitchen flooring as we had hoped.
Then he headed to the basement.
This is when he pointed out the galvanized plumbing and announced what a “big job” it would be to replace all of it with pex. Which—yes—it is. I already knew that. But the attitude? Not necessary.
Side note: If you don’t know much about plumbing, here’s the short version.
Galvanized piping rusts from the inside out. You don’t know you have a problem until water is everywhere. And the black gunk inside? Oh, it’s real. Our washing machine has stains I cannot bleach out to save my life. When we replaced our air conditioner, the gunk clogged the new lines. It’s a whole miserable situation. I’ve wanted the galvanized gone for years.
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| Yuck, the galvanized gunk in pipes |
Once upon a time, copper was the best fix, but most copper you buy today is made overseas and not solid copper. Pex isn’t my favorite either—I worry about microplastics—but here we are. Pick your battle, right?
Anyway, the vibe shifted the moment he looked down at the notes his wife wrote: “$20k kitchen.”
He said, “I hope this is a joke.”
That was the moment I mentally checked out.
His wife told me they offer “winter pricing” where they only charge for materials and labor (…which is literally how all companies work, but okay). I kept an open mind until the quote arrived.
$60,000.
To move the sink, the dishwasher, a few cabinets, and replace plumbing on the first floor.
Materials? $12k.
Everything else? Labor.
Mind you, our kitchen is 13x16—208 square feet—and my husband is making the additional storage cabinets himself. And Jerry’s people are paid $15–$22 an hour according to his own job listings. You can do the math. The math wasn’t mathing, I guess this wasn't such a lucky renovation with him.
And like most owners, he doesn’t actually work on the job. Just supervises. I learned the hard way during our bathroom remodel how that goes—workers sitting in their cars for hours waiting on the boss to show up and make decisions. That’s not something I’m paying for again.
I replied, “Thanks for the quote,” and moved on.
Another gripe while I’m on a roll: contractors who send a quote with nothing but a number. No breakdown, no details, no list of what they’re actually doing. It’s basically, “Here’s a random number, hope you like it.”
That doesn’t hold up in court. It doesn’t hold up anywhere. If they don’t document what they’re doing, you can’t prove something wasn’t completed. It’s laziness, plain and simple.
Cody, the One We Thought Might Be ‘The Guy’
Next up was someone I actually had high hopes for.
We’ll call him Cody.
I’d been watching Cody’s work online for a while. His renovations looked solid — clean work, thoughtful details, the kind of before-and-afters that make you think, finally… maybe this is the guy. When he came out for the appointment, both my husband and I liked him right away.
But here’s where things went sideways.
He didn’t want to go into the basement.
Now… I don’t know how you quote a job that involves replacing galvanized plumbing without going to see the actual plumbing, but okay. I brushed it off at the moment, hoping he would follow up, but that was definitely my first eyebrow raise.
After the appointment, he texted me questions here and there. For weeks. I began to feel like he wasn’t gathering information to prepare a quote — he was keeping me “warm.” You know… just in case. Like if another job fell through, then maybe he’d circle back to us.
And here’s the thing: when you treat a potential client like that, you ruin the trust. Not just with that one client, but with every person they know. Because remember, when you find a good contractor, you share their name. And that becomes a ripple effect — one person leads to another who leads to another, and before you know it, your calendar is full.
By dragging his feet, he lost us. And that was disappointing, because he had real potential. We probably would have hired him based on our initial meeting experience.
The Guy Who Never Showed Up
Then there was the guy who scheduled an appointment and just… never showed up.
No call. No text. Nothing.
And this is the part that gets me — he was working on a house down the street. Literally feet away from our home. That told me everything I needed to know. If someone can’t be bothered to walk 100 yards for an appointment, they’re sure not going to show up when your ceiling is leaking or your floor is buckling.
Next!
The Six-Month Waiting List Company
Then came the company I originally thought we would hire — before we started interviewing everyone. They wanted to push the project out six months.
Six.
Months.
We started planning in July. We called people in August. I was hoping to be wrapping things up by Christmas. They wanted to start in March. No thank you. I may be patient, but I’m not that patient — and I’m certainly not living with half a kitchen for more than half a year.
The One That Almost Won Us Over
And then there was the last company — the former cabinet maker turned home renovator who now works with his brother-in-law. I actually liked them. They were polite. They listened. Their quote was much more reasonable than the others. But a couple of answers made me question their experience. Something just didn’t feel solid enough to hand them our entire kitchen.
And That’s When My Husband Said: “Let’s Just Do This Ourselves.”
And that brings us to the moment my husband looked at me and said:
“Let’s just do this ourselves.”
At first I stared at him like he had just announced we were moving to Antarctica.
But the more he talked, the more it made sense.
“With everything we’ve been through, if someone messes up… it might as well be us,” he said.
And honestly? He wasn’t wrong.
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No shortcuts.
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No sloppy paint drips.
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No worrying whether someone would follow up.
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No babysitting someone else’s workers who sit in their car for hours.
Just us. Making the decisions. Doing it the way we believe it should be done.
Kitchenless Living: Our New Reality
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| One of many holes we've found. Is it no wonder I would comment I could feel a draft? |
And that, my friend, is exactly how we ended up with:
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zero running water,
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holes everywhere,
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and a steady diet of sandwiches for dinner.
It hasn’t been awful, but it certainly hasn’t been fun.
We celebrated my husband’s birthday this year with my mom making lasagna, me heating it up in a half-demolished kitchen, and a store-bought pie from our local fruit farm. When it came time to do the dishes, it hit me…
“Oh no. Where am I washing anything?”
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| Cherry Birthday Pie |
You may think I leap into things recklessly — I promise you, I don’t. I used to overthink everything to the point of paralysis. I used to plan and plan and plan until months went by and nothing ever happened.
Not anymore.
Now? I jump in. I make mistakes. I figure it out. And honestly? It feels better than standing still.
So here we are—eating off paper plates with plastic silverware, trying to remember where we set the hammer last, and adjusting to our new “kitchenless” life. I don’t know how long we’ll live like this, but I’m grateful for the basics: a hot shower, a working toilet, and the knowledge that at least I’m not one of those creators washing dishes in a bucket or using a five-gallon pail as a bathroom.
Would I survive that?
…I don’t think so.
But you never know what you can get used to when life demands it.
Kitchen Chronicles: Part One — How We Got Here
Now that you’ve seen how it all started—the contractors, the sticker shock, the “what were we thinking?” moments—welcome to the reality of our kitchen remodel. This is Part One of a series where I’m sharing everything as it happens. Not the polished, picture-perfect after shots, but the real-life, learning-as-we-go process:
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the projects we’re tackling ourselves
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what we’re hiring out
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how long each step actually takes
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every dollar spent (and sometimes, wasted)
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what’s going right
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and the moments that make us want to lie down on the floor and never get up
We’re keeping track of every hour and every expense—not just for our own knowledge, but so you can see what a real remodel costs, how it unfolds, and what it’s like to learn as you go.
So if you’ve made it this far, congratulations—you’re officially part of the adventure. Next week, I’ll dive into Part Two, where we’ll tackle the first projects, figure out what order makes sense, and see just how far a microwave and a dream will get us.
Stick around—it’s going to get messy, educational, and yes, even a little fun.
Ciao,
