How We Got our Groove Back: Piecing together Life Post-Irma

Haven looks at what used to be our home.

Our first charter for our daysail company, Aristocat Charters, was April 10th. It might not seem like a massive announcement in the grand scheme of things, but getting our flailing business back up and running (we lost both our day charter boats to the storm and have been income-less since) was the last piece of the "Irma puzzle" we had to put together to resume life as normal. It's a laughable concept - "as normal" - because life here after hurricane Irma is anything but "normal"... so much has changed. People have left (both by choice and not), "disaster relief" groups have taken their place, buildings are destroyed, construction is booming, tourists are few and far between, new industries and companies have emerged, tides have changed in a million ways, and many lives and livelihoods face uncertainty...The fact that our first charter was six months overdue is just one *tiny* anomaly among many. It's pretty much the same plot line for every single one of us that lives here: adjustment and recalibration is part of the new normal.

Life post-Irma has been an equally strange and amazing time, living in what some might describe as a "disaster area" that, in many ways, has not quite found it's footing is...interesting. From a global perspective, this situation is not unique. Every day there are a whole host of geographical areas effected by natural disasters, wars, and extreme poverty. These are polarizing predicaments, to be sure. But coming from the relatively bubble-wrapped perspective of a privileged "first worlder", this is very unique. Despite the "different-ness" (life will for a long time be discussed in a pre vs. post Irma vernacular), however, the beauty shines through. My heart continues to swell with gratitude every single day that we can live here, our girls continue to thrive in their wild and carefree childhood, and the tourists who have chosen not to cancel their travel plans all echo the same sentiment: "This place is amazing!" Because it is. Sure, you will see a whole host of cars driving around with only plastic for windows with mangled bodies and, yep, you will probably turn to gawk at some buildings who's second floor is no more, and - true - there are some areas where the destruction and damage will be shocking and possibly depressing, but if you can get past that - you will see that so much beauty remains unchanged. And to be able to see beyond the destruction is, I am learning, a gift.

Those of us that live here, we have to see beyond it. We have no other choice. And so we do.

When I lived in Tanzania my best girlfriend from college came to visit. I picked her up from the 8:30pm KLM flight that arrived from Amsterdam in my old beater of a Land Cruiser and we made the long, dark drive back to my house. We chatted and caught up as we passed a flicker of a roadside oil lantern here and there, and I was giddy with excitement to have a visiting fried. The drive to my house was an hour and to get there we passed through a little roadside shanty town to get up the hill to where I lived. I walked or drove through this little neighborhood every day. Ramshackle dirt-floor homes made of propped up corrugated roof bits and sticks, cardboard mats, and whatever was available. Stray dogs, mamas collecting firewood, and barefoot little kids kept a regular buzz of activity along the roadside...it was all very normal to me. "Oh my gosh Brittany!" my friend gasped when the askari (armed guard) closed the car gate behind us. "How could you not warn me about that?" I was confused..."About what?" I asked, perplexed. "That poverty down there" she said with wide, sad eyes. And suddenly it dawned on me: this was NOT normal to her. It was shocking to her. She had never seen anything like it before. To me, however, those were the kids I hugged and high-fived on the way down the hill. Those were the mamas that sold me my daily maize and welcomed me home with a smile. To me, it was normal. My brain had adjusted.

And it's kind of like that here.

This lesson that I learned so long ago and am re-learning again is the amazing ability of the human brain to adapt. I have always wondered how people in war torn areas were able to live day to day, marveled at the horrors of history such as concentration camps and how people persevered, and my heart breaks daily at the thought of losing a child and how parents (like my own mother) go on after such utter devastation ... while our situation absolutely pales in comparison to those above, what I have learned is that people are often stronger than we think. And when you don't have a choice, your brain does this amazing thing: it adapts. "If you don't bend you break" is a mantra that has resonated with me for a long time - and as a very "type A" person it's not always an easy one for me to embody - but life post-Irma has taught me that more than anything. You need to be flexible. You need to be patient. You need to bend. Choices are a gift, for sure. But when they go away, you learn to work with - and appreciate - what you have. And you go on.

Do not get me wrong, our family is by no means "choice-less" in the literal sense, we are still very much in the top percent of the world's population, but leaving this place would mean abandoning a dream, a life we love, and it would set us back financially in a very significant way. We, in our thought process, had no choice but to stay and try to salvage what we could of our life and business. Irma took us out at our knees; we were at the top of our game, making more money that we had even predicted and growing our business in leaps and bounds. Last season was a record breaker for Aristocat Charters and this season was on track to break that by a LOT...we were doing so well and excited about future plans and goals, dreaming big travel dreams and plotting some exciting getaways. Irma changed all that over the course of a few hours but focusing on the past and how good we had it is easiest way to sink into an anxiety ridden depression. The only way to look now is forward. And one fact remains: we still have it very good. We still have a wonderful life. We are healthy and have our kids. We live in a beautiful and inspiring (albeit imperfect) place.

Perspective is everything.

"What's it like there now?" people ask me. I tell them that it's different, yes, but there are what I describe as "pockets of normalcy" where things feel okay and even like they were before. The main grocery store is unchanged and fully stocked, the roads are clear and free again, Isla's darling school is a haven of happiness and joy (and looks just as it did pre-Irma), our beloved Nanny Cay Marina - while very different - still feels very much the same and the community here is stronger than ever. These are just a few examples... Every day things get a little bit better.  These are still some of the most beautiful islands on the planet and one of the best places for a water-based vacation. Despite what is a very uncertain future in regards to tourism - not to mention the very real (almost palpable) terror that is inside all of us about future hurricane seasons - I am grateful. Our family - no doubt about it - are some of the lucky ones.

So yes, this past month was a big one for us. Our new boat is here meaning we finally have a place to call our own again (stay tuned for a tour and pics!), our beautiful new (to us) daysail boat for Aristocat Charters is up and running (and arguably better than our other boats!), and life is beginning to feel more "normal". Things are coming together and it feels so, so good. As the islands build themselves back up and nature restores itself, so does the human spirit. We are all of us changed from the hurricanes, but I also believe most of us have a new layer of empathy, understanding and an inner strength that has grown. We have nowhere to look but forward.

Our new home and boat, s/v Sonder

These islands still need help! The best way to show support is to come and visit us! People who have been here since the storm are RAVING about their amazing times on charters...this place is still amazing, awe-inspiring and beautiful - ESPECIALLY from the water. Check out my post for Marinemax about what to expect on your trip. See you soon!

Also, if pictures are your thing and you want to see more - please follow us over on Facebook or Instagram where I post pictures of our life and adventures every day. Thank you!

Eulogy for our Boat

Note that the hole in the bow is the bow thruster and not the hold that sank our boat.

Twenty-four hours before Irma struck Tortola and changed the course of our lives and the lives of countless others, I knew we were in for it. "We are going to lose Legato," I told Scott in a contradictory state of shocked disbelief and utter certainty as Irma gained strength on her unforgiving trajectory toward our island of Tortola. I've written about how surreal it is to watch a slowly advancing "mega" hurricane descend upon your home, I've also written about the aftermath of a life forever changed from that hurricane. What I haven't written about is our boat, and what happened to her.

***

Those of us who live on boats know that they are more than "just boats". They become an extension of us, a part of our family and they become our home. Our boats weather storms and rough seas, they deliver us to safe harbor and new horizons. They are dreams and adventures and hopes and wonder all molded into a shiny, fiberglass hull. Most live-aboards meticulously care for their boats, as not doing so can become a matter of life and death... We are intimate with their bellies, their quirks, and how they need to be handled "just so" in certain situations. We fall in love with them and refer to them as a "she". Most of us treat them as such, with tender love and respect...We become very attached to our boats because of the tremendous amount of blood, sweat and tears we put into them. To boaters, our vessels are not inanimate objects, they have souls...

Ours was no different.

Due to the fact that our beautiful Tayana, Legato, was a new-to-us boat, she was unable to take us on all the adventures we wished for her, the trips we had planned for this coming season and beyond... She was taken from us too soon. But our short time with her didn't dampen our love of her; just as it doesn't take long for a mother to fall in love with a newborn baby, falling in love with a boat happens quickly. She was to be our "forever" boat (if there is such a thing) and she was about as close to perfect for us as we could have imagined. She was strong and safe, she sailed wonderfully and she was beautiful. She was soooo beautiful. What do they call it? "House proud?" Yeah, I was "boat proud". We loved her so much. We were very happy living in her cozy belly.

Of all the things I imagined - even worst-case scenario style - I never imagined her sinking.

After Irma struck and we were able to confirm our loved ones and friends were safe, we were able to focus on what exactly happened to Legato. As word and images began to trickle out of our home marina of Nanny Cay, it became apparent that our boat was not in the tangled mess of masts and hulls pushed ashore. "We can't see your boat anywhere" our friend wrote us. "We are so sorry. We have been looking." And, despite a few folks (Scott included) holding out the *sliver* of hope that she'd be found somewhere else entirely, we all knew deep down that she'd sunk.

As pictures like these emerged from Nanny Cay, it became clear our boat was not afloat. Note the 60 foot catamaran flipped over on land like a toy.

Weeks went by and we heard nothing of our boat. And then, one dreary afternoon as I was crafting with the girls, I got the message from my friend, Charlotte:

"Oh Brittany
They found her
I'm so sorry
She's been under this whole time."

She paused and then finished with:

"I took a picture but let me know when you're ready"

I told her I was ready. But I wasn't ready.

How can one be ready to see their beloved home in such a state? I immediately burst into tears as I saw the sorry picture of our home and a well of emotion that had been in hiding for the previous few weeks opened up with a vengeance.

The first picture I saw of our boat after Irma, she is being lifted off the bottom here. Hardly recognizable.

Imagining our boat; all our carefully selected things, our children's' treasures and toys, and all that we had worked so hard for sitting for a month on the silty bottom of the marina floor was too much. My mind imagined our saloon filled with water, dark and murky. The pillows, the clothes, maybe a few things were floating around weightlessly? The eerie stillness and silence of a watery grave...I imagined all our kids beloved books, slowly disintegrating where they were stacked so carefully on the shelf...their stuffed animals, sodden with dirty marina water, laying haphazardly where their final float deposited them...all the woodwork, paper work, tools, electronics...it took us an entire month to shift all our belongings from our old boat to Legato...my mind raced through the inventory aboard, the memories that were, and those that were never to be...

What happened? I wondered as I looked at the wreck of carnage that was once our home. What did her in? Was it our own rig? The rig of another boat? A piling from the broken docks? Maybe it was the corner of one of those cement blocks that were found all over the marina? Those used to be in the water...What *was* it?

The answer to these questions will likely never be known, but it is clear that something punctured her starboard side, just at the waterline. That hole - such a seemingly small yet incredibly significant thing - was what took down our boat and all our belongings inside of her. Have you ever seen water rushing into a boat from a hole below the waterline? The force is incredible and terrifying from even the smallest puncture and it's amazing how quickly water will accumulate. I imagine that fateful moment of impact and how quickly water flooded in, filling our boat at an alarming rate. Our bilge pump wouldn't even have put a dent in it...but our newly installed high water alarm might have sounded for a few moments before it, too, was under. Our boat went down fast, that much is certain. I imagine the water rising, covering all our rugs that I so carefully selected, the floor boards floating up, releasing all the contents kept underneath them. I imagine the water quickly submerging the girl's toy box, their dollies and blocks joining in the frenzied floating fray, and water rising up past the settees and to our bookshelf... All the electronics, the crafting cubby and the pictures on our walls ...I imagine the chaos and swirling water and debris down below as even greater mayhem reigned outside. And I imagine her going down, settling on the murky bottom to die with a soft thud.

A few inches higher and she might have still stayed floating...

While at first I was confused why no one could find a sign of our boat for a solid month after the storm, it became clear later when the diver who found her told Scott that there is only one foot visibility at the moment, and that they are locating boats on the bottom by touch. He met Scott, had a beer with him at the beach bar and offered his condolences. "When I found your boat, I put my hands on her and thought, 'Damn, this was a nice boat'" he told him. And she was. She was a really, really nice boat - and a very comfortable and lovely home. And even though a boat is replaceable, we grieve the loss.

***

As much as Irma took from us, we are among the lucky. We are alive and healthy and young. We were insured and as such, our "stuff" can and will be replaced, and - yes (spoiler alert!) - we will eventually get another boat. It's amazing how something like this puts a whole new perspective on life and what is important. At my lowest moments post-Irma I would immediately think, "But what if I lost a child today? I would then wish for where I am right now..." Suddenly, losing our house, livelihood and things - while shitty - didn't seem like a big deal. Things can be replaced, lives can be rebuilt and communities can heal... I am grateful that we are/were so lucky. We have an amazing support network around us, a fantastic community to return to and we have resources at our disposal. While we mourn the loss of the beautiful home we lost and all she took down with her, we will cherish the memories as we look forward to what lies ahead... This is a single chapter in the story of our life...the adventures will continue.

RIP s/v Legato
Tayana 48
Lost to Hurricane Irma
September 6, 2017

Scott has been going aboard almost daily to try to salvage things. Not easy as the boat is at a 45 degree angle.

So sad to see such a mess and imagine all the garbage this one single boat has produced.

A very sorry state for what was once such a regal and beautiful boat.

The tangled mess of lines and rigging is hard to even comprehend. It gives you a tiny idea of Irma's power

Legato in what has become the boat graveyard at Nanny Cay.

Scott has, amazingly managed to salvage some of the kids things...legos, dinosaurs, some dress up clothes, a tea set...as horrible as plastic is for the ocean, we are grateful to be able to keep some of these things. He even rescued some stuffed animals that after a good soak in disinfectant and a few wash cycles are good as new! Our chain, anchor, and dishes have also been salvaged. Every little bit counts. Note: He propped up this bear and dolly so I could show the girls that the toys were safe together...

Mobile Home For the Win: Life on a Boat

When you have young kids in tow, travel can be tricky. Throw in a set of three year old twins who have no shortage of "spunk" and are a healthy dose of "feral", and it gets even tricker. Simply >>>flying back to my mom's<<< stateside with my three creates an angst in me of epic proportions, and despite living a slightly more "simplified" life than most landlubbers, we still end up with heap tons of crap. And this here is probably the number one reason I love living on a boat: We can travel in our home. All that crap comes with us.

Granted, it still can be challenging to travel with tots on a boat (I mean, it's a boat), but it's still our home and, well, it certainly doesn't get much easier than that as far as travel prep goes. No packing lists necessary. No worrying about forgetting lovies, sound machines or the special "baby socks" that for some unknown reason must be worn every. single. day. No need to try and pare down the absolute essentials of our lives in duffle bags and backpacks, or pack the perfect spectrum of snacks that can be both nourishing and still used as effective bribing tools. We just untie the lines and go. Everything we could ever want or need is right here in our very own floating home. #mobilehomeFTW

There are negatives, of course. Boats are kind of bitchy at times. They are money pits. They can be confining and cluttered. They break a lot, yadda yadda yadda... Then there are the personal constraints: we are not able to travel very far at the moment, nor do we travel very fast, or very much for that matter...this is dictated by choice, of course...our current situation as >>>business owners<<< and parents of three small children keeps us tethered close but no matter what, the potential is there and that alone provides a wellspring for possibility. So while the trips to Europe, Africa and South East Asia that I am scheming in my head will have to wait, it's perfectly okay because we don't need to go very far from our slip to feel worlds away. Being situated here in the >>>British Virgin Islands<<< means we are literally surrounded by amazing places to explore in every single direction. Some are a day or two away, some no more than an hour. 

This past weekend our neighbors (fellow live-aboards) asked if we wanted to sail over to Peter Island with them. My plan for the afternoon had been to do a massive purge of kids' clothes and toys (I am forever tweaking, minimizing, and organizing over here)...so when Scott broached the subject of a daysail with me; a night at anchor sounded much, much better. Within a few moments we were off the dock and underway. Yep, it was that quick and simple. Just untie the lines, raise the sails, and set our home free.

Getting off the Dock: A Recharge, a Refresher and a Water Commute to School

We have had our boat since December and have sailed her only once. Pretty pathetic, right? Thing is, >>>running a business<<< in the islands is a >>>heck of a lot of work<<< (even though the job comes with lots of perks!) and the months have been slipping past. With Scott managing >>>our company<<< and me managing our kids and home life, time flies by with zero effort and no lag. It's been go, go, go around here and we've had one heck of a busy high season with lots of fun stuff in the mix - but one thing we haven't been doing? Sailing.

That had to change...

Twas the Night Before Christmas: Nautical Style

It's Christmas Eve!! I have SO much to write about and SO much to share, but time has not allowed...so those things will have to wait - suffice it to say that life has been insanely hectic (we have a new boat and moved aboard three days before Christmas!) and amazing (we have a new boat and it's Christmas!) I am prepping for a weekend of festivities so cannot give you all the details just yet but for now, we want to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and share this oldie but goodie re-write of an old classic I wrote a few years back...

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the boat, 

not a creature was stirring, not even a roach.

The dry bags were hung on the davits with care, 

in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their berth, 

while visions of snorkeling filled them with mirth.

And mama in her ponytail and I in my headlamp, 

had just dropped the 'hook in a new harbor "camp".

When out on the deck there arose such a clatter, 

I sprang from the nav station to see what was the matter.

To the aft cabin I flew like a flash, 

grabbed my machete and opened the hatch.

The full moonlight sparkled and danced on the ocean, 

while our boat gently rocked with a side to side motion.

When what to my sun-tired eyes should appear, 

but a flying pirogue pulled by eight tiny deer.

With a laughing old helmsman singin' a Caribbean shtick, 

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than dolphins, his coursers they came, 

and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

"Now Dasher! Now Dancer! 

Now Prancer! Now Vixen!

On Comet! On Cupid!

On Donner! On Blitzen!

From the top of the mast all the way to the clew!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away you!"

As sea birds before a wild hurricane fly, 

when met with an obstacle, take to the sky.

Over twinkling anchor lights 'round the harbor they flew

with a boat full of parts and St. Nicholas, too. 

When suddenly I heard on the cabin-top roof 

the prancing and pawing of each tiny hoof.

As I clicked off my headlamp and was turning around, 

down the companionway stairs came St. Nick with a bound!

Hawaiian shirt, bermuda shorts and waternut in hand,

his feet and his face were all covered in sand.

A sack full of provisions he had slung on his hub

and he looked like a man just returned from Sam's Club.

His eyes, how they sparkled!  His wrinkles, how cheery!

His cheeks were all sunburned, his nose was all peely!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a sail, 

the ends of his beard housed a braid, like a tail.

The stump of his Cuban cast a faint yellow glow,

but the Old Salt, he knew better than to smoke down below.

His face was all weathered, and he had a big tum, 

from a lifetime of rays and plenty of fun. 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Salt

and I knew right away this was not an assault.

A wink of his eye and a swig of his rum, 

soon gave me to know he was nothing but fun.

He spoke not a word, but got to work down below

And serviced our systems with the speed of a pro!

He cleaned up our terminals and replaced an old hose, 

After halving my "to-do" list, up the companionway he rose.

He jumped into his boat, to his team gave a whistle,

and away they all went like a nautical missile.

But I heard him exclaim as he sailed through the night

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

© original adaptation written by Brittany Meyers, property of Windtraveler.net

From Cruiser to Expat: On Fernweh and Putting Down Roots Abroad

The incredible experience that lead to this photo would never had happened if I wasn't a local.

There was an internet meme going around a while back that defined the word "fernweh" (n) which is the German word for "farsickness". According to Wikipedia it means: wanderlust, a desire for travel, a longing for far-off places.  I, along with many of my cruising comrades, have this. I cannot say exactly where this "fernweh" in me came from, but I know I had it from a very young age and I suspect it had something to do with being born to pretty adventurous parents. Throw in a well cultivated love of reading (the very best way to travel if you can't actually do so), a thirst for all things "different", and - POOF! - there I was, a child who wanted to see the world and would stop at nothing to do so.

From comparatively exotic family vacations to places like Belize, and fairly regular trips to England to visit my British family - my youth was peppered with the excitement of travel. I was privileged and lucky to experience these things and my parents were sure to remind me of this. As I got older, I literally worked for no other reason that to save money for travel. At eighteen I backpacked around Europe for five weeks, and as I entered my twenties I spent a semester abroad in Rome, Italy. I traveled, solo, around Southeast Asia and South America and while my shoe-string journeys were full of all the adjectives one could use to describe travel (amazing, beautiful, awe-inspiring, eye opening...etc. etc.), I always left wanting more... Not more stamps on my passport or patches for my pack, but...more...something intangible and out of reach. I wanted to feel like I belonged in those places I visited. To sit at the cafe and laugh at the jokes the locals were laughing at. To know the intricacies, the stories, the histories and the true color of a place. I wanted to know about the widowed lady who ran the bakery and the grumpy man who sold the papers outside the flower shop. I didn't want to be a person merely passing through. I wanted to be a local. And a few days to a few weeks in a place just doesn't get you there.

Enter...Africa.

No place in this world has held so much allure to me as East Africa. Growing up, I had read several books that were directly responsible for this blind love affair that began as an early teen, and in college (after reading several more books) I made up my mind that I was going to live there one day. I graduated from University and lived the boozed-up post collegiate city life and loved it. But Africa was always on my mind. After a few party-packed years of care-free fun and not much to show on my resume, I knew I needed a change. A nasty break up with a not so-great-(for me)-boyfriend seemed as good a catalyst as any, and I quit my lucrative yet dead-end waitressing job in the city and signed up for a three month volunteer stint in Tanzania.

I came back three years later.

This experience, way too rich and bohemian to describe in a single blog post, was my first experience as an expat.  It was the most incredible, storied, and adventuresome period of my life thus far and there is no way I would have had even a sliver of the experiences I had if I'd only visited for a few weeks.

***

Which brings us to now. We are expats. We've >>>put down roots here in the British Virgin Islands<<<. And while being an island-dwelling (live-aboard) expat and being a cruiser have quite a few similarities, this is a significant deviation from the suspected plot-line of our well documented story in which we had cast ourselves as roving sea gypsies.

While there are certainly aspects of cruising that I miss; the countless nights at anchor, the freedom of coming and going, seeing the sun rise on the ocean and the excitement of a new landfall - for me, being an expat is, in many ways, more fulfilling.

While we were cruising, we would only scratch the surface of a place. We'd visit a few beaches and towns near the anchorage. We'd visit a restaurant or two and maybe get friendly with a market vendor during our time, but knowing that we'd be leaving in a few day's or a few week's time meant our understanding of a place was always limited. Don't get me wrong, you can (and will!) have incredible cross-cultural experiences as a cruiser but they will be different to those you have as an expat. As an expat, we are certainly not acquiring as many passport stamps, but the experiences we are living have that much more depth.

So what do I love most about expatriate living?

Getting to Know A Place

For one, we have a car at our disposal which means getting off the beaten path and exploring farther afield is that much more feasible. We've lived here for about a year in total and we've only just begun to see what this place has to offer. Part of this slow learning curve is due to the fact that a busy work schedule and a gaggle of girls limits us significantly, but it's also due to the fact that it takes a long time to really get to know a place. We are now getting to know customs (for example, here you always say, "Good Morning" or "Good afternoon" when walking into a place of business or a store, not doing so is considered rude) and the inner-workings of island life (like how to deal with island time, the 'powers that be' and general island bureaucracy.) We still have a lot to learn, but time is an expats greatest teacher. In my experience, it takes at least six months to really sink your teeth into a place...

Cultural Diversity

While the "melting pot" of America is certainly diverse, where I grew up you would need to go to great lengths to not only see that diversity, but interact with it on a daily basis. If Isla was living in my hometown (which, I might add, is a wonderful place!), odds are she'd be in pre-school with no children of color, and seeing a rainbow of ethnicities would be reserved for trips to the city. Here, she is the minority. We interact every day with children and adults from all over the world, and - as a parent - this is very important to me, and a huge bonus of expatriate life.  We certainly got this perk from cruising as well, but instead of playing for a single afternoon, or sharing one single conversation or sundowner on the beach, we are forging more consistent relationships with people from all over the globe. Our girls have a steady group of little friends, which I think is important for them at this age.

Like Minded People

Expatriates, I learned first in my experience in Tanzania and am learning again here, are a different breed of folk. As with cruising, it takes a certain type of person to up and move from their homeland to somewhere foreign. Forming friendships with other expats is usually pretty easy - people who want to live abroad tend to be more open-minded, accepting, and cut from a similar cloth. We are all a dose of hedonist mixed with a pinch of crazy. While the expatriate community is transient, the coming and going of so many interesting people in your life can be very stimulating and inspiring. While the relationships you make might not be as longstanding as, say, a childhood friend, they carry a different kind of depth and connection that is equally fulfilling in a whole new way. Stronger relationships are forged in a shorter amount of time, which is the same with cruising, except with our fellow expat friends we're not saying "goodbye" nearly as much, which is a nice change.

Adaptability

As with cruising, living as an expat requires a good amount of adaptability. Things don't work like they do back home and island life takes more effort in general. You learn to get by with what's available or improvise. Because of the comparative lack of resources you will, in general, be much more inventive with what you do have. Furthermore, making an effort to integrate yourself into another culture, and not simply acting as an observer, will force you out of your comfort zone and show you the importance of being flexible, open-minded, and accepting.

Adventure Every Day

I've already written about the fact that >>>island life is not for everyone<<< and is by no means utopia. But if you are the kind of person who can find beauty in the mundane, laugh at the absurd, and stop and smell the roses, this life is full of excitement - it's all about your perspective. For example, one quick run into town as a family turned into a full morning out when we decided to take our car to the pop-up car wash. Sure, they took over an hour and a half to get our car cleaned, but instead of being annoyed, I chose to find the beauty in it. The car wash was basically a street party; loud speakers blasting music, friends washing cars while shaking their hips to the beat, and a giant water truck providing the means to clean...it was an event! I ended up doing a little photo shoot and it was so fun to embrace this experience as something we'd never have back home. Perspective.

Stability

While there was a time in my life I would scoff at the notion of stability, as a mom of three little ones, I embrace it. I love that our girls have a little consistency in their lives.  They love our "neighborhood" of Nanny Cay and the community we live in is a HUGE reason why we chose Tortola as home. We have wonderful friends and neighbors and a few days before we left a taxi driver told my mom, 'We love those kids. That family is very good to us and we watch after those girls. All of us here love them and look out for them." He then told her he was going to taxi us to the airport, for free, as a gift (turns out Scott got off work so he could take us, but still...) I nearly cried when I heard that. Aside from the sense of community, being in one place means we have some nice land-lubbing liberties that were not available to us when cruising... Very soon the girls will be going to a little preschool a couple days a week to give mommy a break and to give them a chance to experience a slice of life away from my hip (which, for the record, they've never been away from their entire lives!) I'm excited about this for all of us.

***

Do we miss cruising? Of course. It's an incredible lifestyle and one that we have plans to return to one day. But I love expat life just as much and in a different way. Luckily for us, we chose to live in one of the >>>most popular cruising destinations in the world<<<, so there are many similarities between the lifestyles and elements that still remain the same. Do I still suffer from fernweh? Yep. Do I long to travel freely and experience new and different places? For sure. Will we do everything in our power to show our girls as much of the world as we can? You betcha. But this period of our lives, the one where one day we will be able too look back and talk about the time we lived in the British Virgin Islands? It's pretty incredible too.

“What makes expat life so addictive is that every boring or mundane activity you experience at home (like grocery shopping, commuting to work or picking up the dry cleaning) is, when you move to a foreign country, suddenly transformed into an exciting adventure. Try finding peanut butter in a Japanese grocery story or explaining in broken Spanish to the Guatemalan pharmacy that you need cough drops and you’ll understand. When abroad, boredom, routine and ‘normal’ cease to exist. And all that’s left is the thrill and challenge of uncertainty.” 

 – Reannon Muth

Getting Safer with Smarter Cord Connections: Why We Chose Smart Plug

This is, literally and figuratively, *not* cool.

I'll never forget the boat fire that happened on our dock back in Chicago just before we left in 2010. We arrived at the marina to do some work in preparation for our departure just as we did every other day that summer, but this time things were different. Walking down the dock there was a distinct smell of burnt plastic, and as we made our way to our boat, we saw the carnage of the blaze that happened the night before. The ordeal was over and the crowds dispersed, but what was left was a power boat half submerged (thanks to floats that were keeping it from the bottom) - a total loss- and about four other neighboring boats seriously damaged by it's fiery wrath. Apparently a candle had been left burning and a gust of wind blew some canvas on top of it. Within minutes, we were told, the entire boat was aflame. Thankfully, the two people aboard escaped out of the front hatch and no one was hurt, but Scott and I walked away from that experience with two lessons seared into our brains: 1) candles have no place on a boat and 2) fiberglass boats burn hard and fast. 

Yes, we'd do everything we could to prevent a fire on our boat. 

Fast forward to five years and over ten thousand nautical miles later, we are living on the dock in beautiful Tortola, BVI. Ever since permanently relocating here (and being permanently plugged into shore power to run our boat's AC systems like refrigerator, freezer and air conditioning) I've been markedly more worried about the prospect of fire. That's a lot of load on a single cord and AC power freaks me out. Voltage irregularities, moisture intrusion, aging systems, shoddy wiring, and a damaged cord are all things that - in the perfect-storm scenario - can combine to cause a fire. One week I had such strong premonitions about our boat burning down and the fear weighed so heavily on my mind that I started Googling "how to prevent a boat fire at the dock" in earnest. Three days after this rather baseless (yet very driven) search we unplugged our shore power cord to find it charred and burnt. The connection to the boat was also deep-fried. Not cool. 

After talking to my seasoned marina-dwelling friends and professional boat workers about our issue, I learned that a) chord charring is not as dire as it seemed (most likely it would just fry the cord and that'd be the end of it) and b) fried and burnt shore power cords are far more common than I thought. "We replace our cords at least once a year" one fellow live-aboard friend told me, with several others agreeing. Even armed with this  knowledge, however, I felt uneasy. We have very precious cargo in the form of three adorably squishy little bodies on our boat and I want to ensure they are as safe as can be.

***

According to Boat US data about 17% of boat fires are due to the AC system and many of those are due to cord damage. Seaworthy Magazine has an exceptional article on the intricacies of shore power and cord care in "When Your Shore Power Looses it's Cool" and this article does a far better job at explaining the issues than I ever could. Long story short: cord damage happens, it's dangerous, and it's up to you to be diligent and monitor it. Check yourself before you wreck yourself.

After some research and a whole bunch of suggestions from friends who have converted, I decided we'd upgrade to the SmartPlug*. I purchased two SmartPlug 30-Amp Inlet Connector Combo Kits to retrofit our two 30-Amp connection ports. This conversion is not cheap (at the time we spend $175 on each) but, to us, anything that will keep our family safe and (possibly) save our boat and all our worldly possessions, is worth it.

Why SmartPlug? Well, first and foremost it's simply a huge improvement on the old-style cords. The Smart Plug's design prevents overheating and provides "greater protection against loose connections and corrosion - the leading cause of shore power failure and fires." How do they do this?

• Spring loaded multi-point push lock (much stronger connection to boat)
• Weatherproof sealing (much better at keeping moisture out than older style cords)
• Straight blades that offer much more surface contact (better connection which protects from overheating and arching)
• Ease of installation and use (uses existing holes, easy conversion and no awkward "did it really connect?" twisting involved once in)

We converted two outlets and cords because we also figured that perhaps the reason for our charring might be that our single 30-Amp cord was overburdened by our systems and we decided (since we had the real-estate) to put our refrigerator and freezer on one cord, and our air conditioning on another. These measures, plus our new SmartPlugs mean we sleep a little better at the dock.

*We have no affiliation with SmartPlug

Living Afloat with Littles: Is Raising Toddlers Harder on a Boat?

When people find out that we live on a boat with our four year old and two year old twins, the overwhelming reaction is one of shock quickly followed by disbelief and then wonder. "You live on a boat with those girls? There is NO way I would be able to do that!" they say. "But, wow... Good for you!" Then they think for a second and an inquisitive look crosses their face as they finish with, "What's it like?" I am here to say that, yes, living on a boat is certainly different than raising kids on land, but it's not necessarily as demanding as you might imagine. In many ways it *is* harder, in some ways it's easier and in others it's exactly the same (i.e we still deal with tantrums and meltdowns, we are constantly operating at a base line of exhaustion, and the conundrum of what in the h*ll to cook for dinner is a daily struggle, to name a few.) Scott and I have lived aboard since 2010 and taken several substantial "land breaks" in the states during that time, so we have experienced each lifestyle with our family. Just like everything, there is a yin and yang balance of plusses and minuses to both so the answer to the title question isn't a simple "yes" or "no"...

***

WHAT'S HARDER?

The real differences lie not in the fact that we live on a sailboat, per se, but are a family of five living in a >>"tiny" home<<. There are definite challenges to this arrangement...

Lack of Space: Captain Obvious here! We live in a two "bedroom" boat that is slightly larger than an average sized RV. At forty-four feet, >>our boat<< is by no means "small" for a cruising monohull (in fact it is pretty average), but a) most cruisers are couples and not families and b) our livable square footage is actually less than an average home's living room. It's...cozy. Our twins share a room (and to call it a 'room' is laughable) and Isla sleeps in >>a make-shift bunk bed we created in our walk-thru<< to the aft cabin. We have almost zero privacy and no doors except for those on the twins' room and our bathrooms. Our communal living space is halved when we raise up our (folding) dining table and if we are all aboard, we are - quite literally - tripping over each other. Hosting out of town guests? Forget about it, we simply do not have the space.

This is where they play most of the time. Note that if I need to go to the bathroom, galley, nav station or cockpit I must step over children.

Fewer Amenities: We don't have a microwave, a dishwasher, or a washer/dryer. We have no television. Storage space is hugely truncated as well; we don't have a large pantry, closets or spacious cupboards to store food and gear and instead rely on awkward spaces behind cushions and under floorboards to squirrel things away. Our refrigerator is a glamorized cooler and the act of packing and unpacking it requires a zen level of patience and serious Tetris skills (neither of which I possess). We have no adequate indoor bathtub or shower, and thus must bathe and shower outside on deck or walk to the marina showers a few docks down (not always realistic or convenient with three little kids in tow!) All of these things make day to day living just a little bit harder.

No Dedicated Play Area: Most homes have a dedicated play space for their kids, it might be a basement, a child's bedroom, a playroom or a back yard. In this area toys rule the roost and kids are usually free to make a mess at their will, play safely, and - in most cases - out of their parent's way. We do not have this luxury. There is no dedicated area for the kids to play on our boat, they play in the salon which also is our dining room, living room, office and recreation room - meaning to get from point A to point B at any given time, I usually have to step over an array of play things and a child or two. There is literally no escape!

Our table which does duty as our craft area, stage, fort (underneath) and also happens to halve our salon space.

No Personal/Entertainment Space: Personal space? What's that? Pile on's aren't the exception, they are the rule on our boat! Joking aside, we are more or less a "one room" house and getting away from one another is pretty much impossible on our boat. It's very easy to get overwhelmed when the girls are fighting and there's only one place to put them - or me - in a time out, and our very close proximity (and the fact that we have two year old twins!) means things go from cool to crazy very quickly (and by "crazy" I mean bat-sh*t crazy!) We rarely host play dates because our three girls alone fill the space and any more kids just gets nuts, and having friends over for dinner is almost impossible with sleeping children around. We also run a >>very busy day charter business<< and Scott does all the admin for that...when he needs our boat to double as his 'office' during the day, the girls and I must make ourselves scarce because it's impossible, literally impossible, to work alongside three very active little girls in a small space.

Yeah, attempting to get work done with three toddlers in a communal living space is pretty futile.

Safety: Ah, the issue of safety. By nature I am not a helicopter mom, but a boat floats which means we are surrounded by potential hazard and I cannot give them the freedoms I would if we lived on land. Of course we have >>taken every precaution to keep our girls safe<<, just as any parent would, but, unlike a parent who can feel safe letting their kids run free in their fenced-in back yard, we do not have that luxury. If our girls are on deck, they must be monitored. Until >>they can all swim adequately<< this will be an ever-present issue and it just goes with the territory. And can we talk about getting all three of them on and off the boat?! Phew! It's like getting three kids in and out of carseats...but harder. Lifting three toddlers on and off a boat 3-4 times a day? That's a CrossFit workout right there!

She climbs up here by herself. She's two. Our adventurous kids keep us on our toes!

The list goes on.

The challenges are there and they are real.  There are times when an extra bedroom, an office, a comfy couch in front of a flat-screen t.v, a playroom, locking doors, a garage and a backyard would be positively lovely.

BUT...

The world is our oyster (how many homes do you know >>can up and sail to another island<<?) and the challenges of living small also bring forth many benefits....

WHAT'S AWESOME?

Family bonding: Our girls are never more than ten feet from my person, so I always know what is going on and simply being close to them means I am always there. This might not seem like a big deal, but our close proximity to each other day in and day out is fostering strong familial bonds as a direct result of this togetherness. So. Much. Snuggling! Our girls are sisters, playmates, and bunkmates and are leaning >>valuable lessons<< in side-by-side playing, personal space, cooperation, respect for another's space and conflict resolution because of this. Being so close in age means they often play with the same toys exacerbating these lessons and life skills. Of course this closeness also results in epic cat-fights, tantrums and ear-piercing meltdowns, but - hey - they are laying some pretty solid ground work and it is my belief that, in the long run, being physically close as a family will result in emotional close-ness later on (>>crosses fingers<<).

Grainy pic, but this is a pretty standard morning shot. We all pile into mommy and daddy's bed and cuddle. 

Less to Clean: It's true that messes are quick to be made in a very small space, but they are very quick to be tidied up as well. It literally takes me all of ten minutes, tops, to clean up our entire living space after a couple hours of play. Crumbs on the floor after lunch? My trusty dustbuster will clean up the whole floor in five minutes flat! The girls are learning the importance of playing with a few things at a time, putting those things away, and playing with something else. Of course they are kids and make a mess and have fun, but because every toy has a place, they know to clean up after themselves. Most of the time. ;)

This is a game they love to play. I'm not sure what it is, but they set up chairs with pillows and blankets, and sit there. 

Less stuff : The >>benefits of owning less stuff are vast<<. While we are by no means 'minimalists', the simple act of living on a forty-four foot boat means we have less than most because we simply have less room. This goes for toys as well. Having fewer toys means our girls are more imaginative with >>what they do have<<, and I believe that this has honed their self-entertainment skills and creative ability. They can quietly sit alongside each other and play - together or alone - for long stretches of time with the toys that they have and when those get old, their imaginations start to soar. Pillows, blankets and the most mundane things become forts, gowns and spaceships. Watching them play together is such a joy for me. And while we do watch the occasional movie on our computer, and I certainly see the value of utilizing the iPad from time to time, we do not have television and I strongly believe that limiting screen time has also helped foster their ability to self-entertain and be creative with play, and each other.

Their sisterly bond and friendship is something that is very important for me to help cultivate if I can.

Multicultural Experience: We live on a very small island where a multitude of nationalities reside. Every day our girls interact with Dominicans, Puerto Ricans, Jamaicans, British, French, Guyanese...the list goes on. Living at a vibrant and very popular marina means they meet new people - and hear a litany of dialects and accents - every day. They greet the lawn workers with the same respect as the general manager and every week, they share the swimming pool with local islanders with mental and physical disabilities ranging from downs syndrome to autism. Our marina is a magnet for young people - local and expat - and our girls play with kids of all ages regardless of social class or skin color. This sort of exposure is helping shape their world view and, hopefully, helping to create more worldly, tolerant and compassionate people.

Our resident coconut man, we love him! Each time we see him we get water nuts, fruit and hugs!

Safety: I mentioned the fact that being surrounded by water is a safety concern, and it is. But in many ways I feel safer on our boat with our girls than I do in most homes. Boats, by nature, are actually pretty child-proof. All cupboards on a boat are self-locking which means our girls can rarely get into places they aren't supposed to, so the fear of them getting into cleaning supplies or medicines is highly unlikely. Furthermore, our girls are bonafide monkey's who love to climb and test their limits (a skill and curiosity I fully encourage and rarely dissuade), and - on a boat - there's no chance of a television, dresser or armoire toppling over on them. And, again, the fact that they are never more than ten feet from my person means whatever trouble they can get into, is often discovered very quickly.

She is our resident Denis the Menace. Her spirit is wild and her mind fearless. She is awesome.

Outside Everyday: Living in a (relatively) small sailboat forces us outdoors a lot more than we probably would be if we lived in a house and had more space. More time outdoors means more time in nature, more vitamin D, more interacting with the natural environment, socializing with our community and neighbors, and more time swimming, running, digging and playing. >>All good stuff<<, for sure! I never feel isolated as a "stay on boat" mom because all I need to do is get off the boat and walk the dock for a moment before I can talk to a fellow mom, vacationer, cruiser or friend. What we lack in organized structures like museums, play parks, and activity centers (because there are not many of those things here!) we get in nature. We have our choice of beaches to explore, islands to visit, and water activities to indulge in and we love that. We spend our days playing and not rushing from organized activity to organized activity. Instead of constantly being entertained, our girls are learning to entertain themselves.

Trying to find indoor pictures for this post was hard because 95% of our waking hours are spent OUTSIDE!

Community: This has more to do with where we live on our boat than the fact that we live on a boat, but - still - it's worth noting. As I mentioned above, living "small" means we get out a lot more. Our girls live in a "neighborhood" (marina) where we know just about everyone, by name, and each day our kids are hugged, greeted and held by a whole slew of familiar faces from the maintenance men to taxi drivers to the restaurant waitstaff. Everyone has an eye on our girls and we all help one another out. Islanders live and understand the "village mentality" which is really refreshing, particularly for parents like us who have >>"free rage" tendencies<<. The restaurant staff will tell my kids to behave and the dock assistant will grab a child that's run too far from me and bring her back with a smile. We have neighborhood kids as babysitters and to summon them all I need to do is walk around the docks and find them. Our girls join us at happy hour where they are greeted by all our friends and every Friday we enjoy a giant beach BBQ with fellow islanders and marina guests. It's awesome.

***

The bottom line, and one that I have preached many times on this blog, is that little children are completely adaptable and as long as the parents can adjust (and this here is the tricker part!), living on a boat is very do-able with kids. Some things will be easier than you expect, some will be tougher - but one thing is certain, parenting is hard work no matter where you are.  You will need to find your own groove, develop your own systems and do what works for you. This lifestyle is most certainly not for everyone and while it works very well for us and our family (most of the time...), there are just as many people who wouldn't last a week living like we do. Some people thrive living in a city, some prefer suburbs, others find peace in rural areas and we happen to live on an island. There are families that live in busses, cars, tents and yurts...Whether or not a certain lifestyle 'works' and is 'easy' really depends on the person and, pun intended, what floats their boat.

Shirtless, dirty, and swinging fearlessly from a rope on a tree. As it should be!

Me? I wouldn't change how we live for the world. If I had a dime for each time I heard, "What a fantastic way to grow up!" I'd have that three cabin monohull we've been eyeing. And I completely agree! We thrive on the living with less and I believe our unconventional lifestyle is doing incredible things for our girls in these very formative years. We have less in many ways, but in others we have so much more. Each challenge is an incubator for thought, growth, and integrity. There are many >>side effects to the way we live<<, and most of them are positive.

Is is harder? A little. Is it worth it? Totally.

* Big thank you to Facebook follower, Chris Wick, for asking this question and inspiring this post!

Maho Bay, Where Magic Happens and Serendipity Rules

Magic happens in Maho Bay, St. John. Maybe it’s the turquoise water, the pristine stretch of white sand beach, or perhaps it's the fact the famously calm bay is situated on one of the Caribbean’s most beloved islands and smack-dab in national park... but every time we come here - something extraordinary occurs.

Last year Maho played host to the >>>twin’s first birthday party<<< , as well as one of my >>>best friend's birthday parties<<<, which also happened to serendipitously coincide with the meeting of a couple of blog followers who were in the area on charter. Before the aforementioned festivities went off, Lauren and Brian dinghied up to our boat, introduced themselves, and a friendship was very quickly born. We talked all things boats and cruising; they were keen to check out of the rat race and join the cruiser set, but still apprehensive on some fronts. After the weekend with us and our friends from It's a Necessity and Where the Coconuts Grow, they put their plan into high gear.

***

Just over a year later, we are back at Maho bay. But this time, Brian and Lauren are on their own boat, a beautiful Whitby 42 (a sister ship of ours, no less) and are now full-time cruisers with some serious street cred (and a blog!) of their own. One year. In one single year they completely changed their land-lubbing New Yorker lives and became un-tethered cruisers of the sea. Magic. (...and a lot of hard work, blood, sweat and - most likely - tears too, but for the sake of the post - we're gonna call it "magic"). Either way, that's a pretty incredible timeline.

But it's doesn't stop there...We are also in the company of a whole slew of fellow bloggers and friends who happened to descend upon this little slice of paradise at precisely the same time. While it might seem that a multiple-day blogger-rally like this was the result of lots of email and planning, this weekend gathering occurred rather haphazardly and with very little preparation. As our friend Bo of Sailing B+ A so aptly wrote on his blog post of our incredible weekend, “this kind of epic cannot be planned or anticipated”. It just sort of...happened.

It all started when our friends, the Sunkissed Soeters, mentioned they were going to go to St. John for the weekend and that we should come with. I jumped at the chance and immediately alerted, Genevieve of It’s a Neccesity, knowing that this little jaunt would be easy for them being based just across the channel in St. Thomas. When that plan materialized, we knew that Jody and Peter of Where the Coconuts Grow would want "in" as well...And so it went down the coconut telegraph with every boat contacting another and another...and before we knew it, in less than 24 hours of "planning", six boats, twelve live-aboards, and seven boat kids converged on Maho Bay for one fateful weekend of fun in the sun. 

It was an amazing time with wonderful friends, new and old. The weekend has been well documented on social media and has been dubbed "Lobsterfest 2016" thanks to a bounty of seven "bugs" the men (and Lauren!) caught one day that turned into - quite possibly - the most logistically complicated yet perfectly executed cruiser pot-luck meal in history (See >>>Lauren's post<<< for full details of the amazingness!) The lobsters were cleaned on one boat, parboiled on another, grilled on yet another, all while Lauren (a bonafide chef and self-proclaimed foodie - ohmygodsheissogood!) prepped pizza dough and fixings for seven - COUNT THAT SEVEN - lobster pizzas. Once assembled, Eben collected and dispersed the pizza's to every boat where we cooked them ourselves and brought the finished products - along with some delicious sides - aboard a beautiful power boat who's caretakers, Amanda and Justin, we had met (again serendipitously) on the beach that afternoon. After meeting all of us and getting to talking, they generously offered to play host to our massive pot luck which was a good thing because no monohull cockpit is comfy for twelve adults and seven kiddos!  

I'm missing steps of how the meal materialized for sure, but let me tell you - it all somehow went off without a hitch.

The weekend was amazing, and most certainly the highlight of this season for us. Laughs, day drinking, hiking, swimming, paddle-boarding, kiteboarding (Eben and Scott), laughing, late nights, early mornings and - in general - all the goodness we love about the cruising lifestyle in the highest, most concentrated dose ever. While weekends like this are no longer the norm for us as full-time marina dwellers in the British Virgin Islands, it's serendipitous rarity made it that much more special to us. 

***

And that couple we met on the beach? The one's who so graciously hosted our motley crew and fit right in like they've been our friends forever? We've been writing back and forth because now they are "seriously looking and talking about buying a boat and cruising the islands" just like Brian and Lauren before them. "Maho Bay, the place where dreams are discovered...." Wonder what this next year will bring? 

Magic.

Want to read/see more about the weekend? Check out these videos and blog posts by our friends:

>>>Maho Bay Lobster Weekend 2016<<<

>>> This Kind of Epic Can Not Be Planned<<<

>>> One of our Favorite Weekends of the Year (Lobsterfest Video)<<<

>>>Illegal Alien in St. John<<<

And now for a photo dump of our weekend...

Sailing from Tortola to St. John is almost always a pleasure, down wind and smooth. Perfect for the littles.

Isla taking it all in. She's always been a very zen little sailor chick.

Ritz crackers were the snack du jour. 

Under full sail. St. John in our sights.

This is a typical moment underway for us.

When you make the Virgin Islands your home, these sort of sailing scenes are normal. #lucky

The girls having fun and getting excited to see all their friends.

This is what Haven does when you ask for a "thumbs up". I find it hysterical. 

Maho Bay, full steam ahead! 

As soon as we got our mooring ball, friends started to show up. Here is Bo and Allie of s/v Selah. 

And Eben, Genevieve, Arias and Ellia of s/v Necesse.

Our view of Maho Bay. It's bliss, not gonna lie. 

Lauren and Allison promptly came over during nap time for a little gab fest and some day drinking. Love these two. 

When Genevieve's girls woke up, they headed over too!

Darcy, Luuck, Stormer and Rio arrived too...

And there's the stern of s/v Nightengale Tune, Brian and Lauren's boat.

A gathering of friends and a little day drinking in our cockpit. Our garbage bag was FULL after this day! haha!

Luuck of Sunkissed Soeters took all the kids tubing, SO MUCH FUN! Here's Isla and Stormer. So many smiles!

Our good friends Jody and Peter of Where the Coconuts grow were there too!

Because, twins. They are just the cutest;

Lauren learned very quickly that giving a toddler a phone is an easy and quick way into their good graces! 

"Oh, yeah. You're going to find a few selfies of Mira and I on your camera" - Allison. Love her.

Snorkeling with daddy.

Scott taking the kids for a little spin around the neighborhood. 

Sunset in Maho.

Party boat! Or are those Pirates!?!?

The collecting and dropping off of lobsters and supplies for the epic Lobsterfest dinner.

Breakfast time at anchor is our fave. We are up and out with the sunshine! 

Oh, Haven!

Little Mira-belle and her sneaky grin.

Again, twins. The best thing ever.

Steely eyed wild child.

Our little mermaid. Sweet as pie.

Maho is full of sea turtles, all you need to do is watch for a while and you're sure to spot them.

Watching the sea life and bird life is standard practice when at anchor.

Beach time before we shoved off.

Homeward bound full of great memories from an incredible weekend.

My little sea gypsy. Love her so much.

Upwind sailing with three toddlers is a different ball game! More challenging for sure!

Girls were over tacking at this point, but man - Scott was thrilled we got to sail the whole way back. 

Captain of our ship.

Haven, thoughtful.

Family photo of our boat from B+A's drone.

Thanks for an amazing weekend, friends! Cannot wait to do it again! xoxo