Owning a home is a dream for many.

And for those who realize that dream, it quickly becomes a nightmare.

There’s a never ending list of to-do’s and repairs to be made. Some are easy, like fixing the broken toilet handle. Others are hard, like fixing the broken shut-off valve while your basement turns into a swimming pool.

But none are so daunting as an entire-room renovation.

Since the day we put an offer on this house we knew that eventually, the kitchen would need to be demolished and rebuilt.

It was the only room in the house the previous owners had never updated. It still sports the original cabinets from 1961, and it shows. They’ve been repainted so many times the room is physically smaller than when it was built (currently the drabbest shade of gunmetal gray). Some cabinets don’t close anymore, and some drawers have holes in them.

And for years we dealt with it. It was an eyesore and a bit annoying, but ultimately preferable to the behemoth task of renovating.

That is, until we had a Milo.

Danger Danger

Oxford dictionary definition of a Milo: 18-month-old tornado of curiosity and cuteness.

None of the modern baby-proofing equipment works on these old cabinets, and the room has become something of a death trap.

So, we had a choice: Follow this kid into the kitchen every second of every day, or spend tens of thousands of dollars and months of frustration updating the kitchen.

Honestly, it’s a toss-up.

Reluctantly, we met with some kitchen contractors.

Contractor A was amazing.

He was no mere handyman, he was an artist. After 40 years in the business, he spoke about countertops and cabinetry with poetry and passion. Ideas flowed out of him with ease, taking any suggestion of mine and turning it into a vivid picture, so alive we felt as if the kitchen was already renovated.

In the end, he quoted a price between 50% and 70% higher than the budget we gave him at the start of the conversation, but qualified it by assuring us of his artistry.

Contractor B was far less exciting.

She asked for our budget, and then walked us through a basic remodel, explaining at each phase how we could save money and cut costs by making certain decisions, and what the tradeoffs would be. She pitched no original ideas, and offered no sweeping statements about beauty or form – only function.

Her quote was right in line with the first part of our conversation.

As it stands, we haven’t decided if we’re going through with the remodel. But if we do? It’s Contractor B, hands down.

Why?

Because she actually listened to us.

Real Art

Contractor B paid attention when we told her our budget, and explained that we aren’t planning on staying in this house long enough to recoup the cost. In other words, make it nice and enjoyable for the next few years, safe for Milo, but not so crazy that the cost will sink our finances.

Where Contractor A was so wrapped up in how amazing his ideas were, Contractor B listened to us.

She didn’t present her work as art.

But her ability to see us, hear us, and understand what we wanted?

That was her art.

And increasingly, in a world that’s full of people shouting past each other, it’s the only art that matters.