When we gutted our kitchen, we didn't have the option to move out. We didn't have family nearby with a spare room. We didn't have the budget for six weeks in an Airbnb.
So we lived in our house, with two kids, and no kitchen, for six weeks.
I'm not going to tell you it was easy. But I am going to tell you that we got through it. And there were some things we did that actually worked.
The Setup
Our house is a 1954 ranch. It's not big. The kitchen was U-shaped, about 165 square feet. The dining room—which became our "kitchen"—was attached.
We made that dining room our everything room. It was kitchen, dining room, pantry, and command center all in one. We didn't have to install a full kitchen, just enough to get by.
Here's what we set up:
A folding table with a hot plate and a microwave
A small dorm-size fridge in the corner
A utility cart with plates, cups, and basic supplies
A plastic tub in the bathroom sink for washing dishes
A cooler for extra drinks
It wasn't pretty. It wasn't comfortable. But it worked.
The Routine
We fell into a routine quickly, because we had no choice.
Breakfast: Hot plate oatmeal. Cereal for the kids. Coffee from a French press. We ate at the folding table, which was also where Emma did homework.
Lunch: Sandwiches. Always sandwiches. We got creative—different breads, different meats, different cheeses. By week four, we were all sick of sandwiches.
Dinner: This was the challenge. We used the hot plate for simple things—pasta, eggs, stir-fry. The microwave did a lot of the heavy lifting. We ordered takeout twice a week. By week three, takeout felt like a luxury. By week five, even takeout felt like a chore.
The Dish Situation: We washed dishes in the bathroom sink. It was awkward. It was inefficient. And it forced us to wash immediately after eating—no letting dishes sit in the sink. That part was actually a good habit.
What Went Wrong
We forgot the disposal had been removed when I tried to run the garbage disposal and dumped coffee grounds directly into a bucket of water. That was a mess.
We tried to cook pasta on the hot plate and the pasta water boiled over onto the counter. That was a bigger mess.
Emma knocked over a glass of milk on the dining table and we had to clean up while the floor was covered in plastic. That was the hardest one.
But those were small things. The big challenges were the emotional ones.
The Stress Test
There's a reason why renovation is a leading cause of stress in relationships. It tests everything: your patience, your communication, your ability to compromise.
Here's what I learned about keeping a marriage intact when the kitchen is gone:
Rule 1: Take Breaks Together
Sarah and I agreed that once a week, we'd leave the house and do something normal. No talk about the renovation. No talk about the budget. Just dinner out, or a walk, or a movie.
Those breaks saved us. When you're living in a construction zone, it's easy to forget that there's a world outside your house. Getting out reminded us that this was temporary.
Rule 2: Don't Blame Each Other
It's easy to point fingers during a renovation. "You wanted this cabinet style." "You didn't measure the fridge opening correctly." "You said we didn't need a permit."
None of that helps. We made a rule: no blaming. We'd talk about solutions, not about who caused the problem.
Rule 3: Laugh About It
We had to find humor in the situation. The way Lucas tried to "help" by hammering a nail into a stud he'd missed. The way Emma suggested we "just eat ice cream for dinner every night."
Laughing together made it bearable. And it reminded us why we were doing this in the first place.
What I'd Do Differently
If I had to do it again, here's what I'd change:
Rent a portable kitchen setup. Not just a hot plate—a real portable burner, a real sink. They exist and they're worth the $200 rental.
Get more takeout. We were too frugal. Spending an extra $300 on food would have been worth the saved stress.
Set a stricter schedule. We let the contractor work late, which meant dinner was at 8 PM. Next time, I'd insist on a 5 PM cutoff so we could have a normal dinner.
Declare one room completely off-limits to construction. We had the family room as our safe zone, but it wasn't really safe—tools, boxes, dust. Next time, I'd draw a hard line.
The Bottom Line
Six weeks felt like forever when we were in it. But looking back, it was six weeks of a thirty-year marriage. Six weeks of a childhood that will mostly be remembered as "that time we ate sandwiches at the folding table."
We survived. The kitchen is beautiful. And Sarah and I are still married.
That's a win.
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