In a matter of hours, the old kitchen was gone.

On the first day of our renovation, contractor Grant Vermeire of Diamond V Construction and his assistant, Chris Ostermeier, arrived at 9: 30 in the morning.

By noon, cabinets, counters, dishwasher and sink were pulled out and carted away. After lunch, the two of them tackled the old broom closet-turned-pantry, tearing out the shelves and removing the door.

Vermeire's enthusiasm was boundless. He drew pictures on the walls, to indicate where the appliances would stand; he pencilled a rough illustration of our new window over the sink. When he wasn't prying off countertops or taking down light fixtures, he was sweeping. The floor was nearly as clean as it would be on an ordinary day.

My husband and I were feeling rather smug. After a gruelling weekend of hauling everything out of the kitchen, we had wrested some order from the chaos.

Boxes of pots, pans, utensils, cookbooks, dishes and dry goods were stacked half way up a living room wall. The refrigerator was plugged into an outlet across the room. In the adjacent dining room, a tea wagon and sideboard were cleared of plants and knick-knacks to make room for breakfast foods and a toaster oven. The walls felt as if they were closing in on us, but there was still room to sit at the dining room table and on the living room sofa.

Organization is key, Vermeire told us.

"Be prepared and have everything out of the room," he said. "It makes the renovation easier and on time."

What we were most proud of was a temporary kitchen set up in my husband's workroom in the basement. While it had somewhat of a Second World War bunker feel to it, the narrow, windowless space would prove invaluable for getting us through the month-long process.

The scarred wood counter was covered in several layers of thick plastic, and inexpensive rubber mats cushioned the bare concrete floor. A stew was simmering in our new slow cooker and a newly purchased rice cooker was ready for use nearby. We had moved our microwave oven into the basement family room and were storing dishes, utensils, canned goods and spices there, too.

The renovation would cost more than $30,000, so we were determined to keep household spending down. Dining out was a luxury we couldn't afford. Slow-cooker and microwave meals had to see us through the month.

We also were lucky to have a laundry sink in the workroom. That meant we didn't have to lug dirty dishes two storeys up to the bathtub. As we embarked on this project, people who had been through the process warned us of the headaches of living without a kitchen. The worst part, they said? No sink. You can barbecue, microwave and slowcook your meals. But without a sink, you are left high and dry.

One friend whose kitchen was renovated a few years back, washed her dishes in a tiny bathroom sink in the basement, setting the dish drainer on the closed toilet lid. A neighbour and her family moved out during their kitchen remodel.

"It's like camping," Vermeire said with a smile. "There's always a bathtub to wash dishes."

Cindy Donaldson, our representative at Delton Cabinet, supplier and installer of our cabinets, said people need to expect inconvenience during a kitchen reno. "Things always have to get worse before they get better."

Creating a temporary kitchen, like we did, was one solution, said Donaldson. "If you're lucky enough to own an RV, plan your renovation for the summer," she said. "Then you can live in your RV in the driveway while that renovation is going on, so you have some place to sleep eat, cook that's away from the dust and the disturbance."

The disturbance Donaldson talked of was something I was dreading. I work from home and was steeling myself for a month of noise and disruption.

Neither, however, proved to be a problem. There were occasional power outages, but Ostermeier would give me notice before switching off breakers so I wouldn't lose computer work. (They also reminded me to reset the slow cooker after electricity was restored.) Even the dust wasn't as bad as expected. Vermeire sealed off the kitchen with heavy plastic sheeting.

"Dust barriers have to be up at all times," Vermeire said. "I try and make it as easy as possible because I know exactly what it feels like. I just hate the dust so that's why I try and keep things clean."

Still, living as displaced people in your own home takes its toll. Our leg muscles burned from shlepping food from the basement to the dining room; and evenings were spent chopping vegetables and slicing meat for the next day's slow-cooker meals.

Our 15-year-old border collie, deaf and losing her sight, was miserable. She had eaten in the kitchen all her life. Now, we had to lead her daily to her food dish in the living room.

The four-year-old border was more resilient. She developed a liking that verged on obsession for Vermeire and hung out in the hallway most of the day watching him work.

And as the new kitchen took shape, any inconveniences faded before our growing excitement.