Hurry Up and Wait: The Agony of Watching a Hurricane Barrel Down on Your Island

"What's the most stressful part of living on an island/running an island business/living on a boat?" We get this question a lot. And there are a host of answers to each but one answer crosses all divides is: being right smack dab in the middle of hurricane alley between the months of June and November every year. Our stress is compounded by the fact that both >>>our business<<< and our home are water based, and as such Scott and I currently own four boats in Tortola. There are more than a few people who would look at us and think to themselves (and possibly out loud) what a preposterous position to put ourselves in. And at this particular moment, we might agree.

***

There is currently a major hurricane barreling down on our little island. Her name is Irma and she is apparently a beast, slated to be a Cat 3 or 4 when she hits our area (for perspective, Katrina was a Cat 5). After a few days of nail-biting monitoring it seems, more than ever, that she will - at best - pass very close to our island, and - at worst - pass directly over us. My days have been a blur of checking weather sites for updates and new storm models with the hopes of positive news, and each day it becomes more and more clear that this storm poses a real threat to our island and island neighbors. People are flying out, stores are selling out of non-perishables and the departments of disaster management are urging people to PREPARE NOW. It's a big deal. And this waiting, this constant refreshing of the news feed to see if a new model shows promise of a turn away from us...it is agonizing. But like watching a train wreck, it is so hard turn away. "Stop watching!" they tell me but it's hard when we have so much at stake; our livelihood, our friends and our home are all there. And so I keep scanning my feed, hoping for positive news while channeling my inner meteorologist and every morning brings news that makes the sickening feeling in my belly deepen: this hurricane is not turning, her path is becoming more defined and our island is very likely in it.

Another agonizing element to this story is the fact that we are not there. Of course this is a blessing, as our most precious cargo is safe from Irma's wrath. However, if we were there, we could at least be doing something proactive to prepare and know we did our best to do what we could...instead we watch with a feeling of helplessness. We monitor the weather sites, we communicate and commiserate with other locals and we hope. Thankfully, we have some amazing friends, neighbors and employees working for us on the home front. Peter from >>>Where the Coconuts Grow<<< has been a lifesaver and is currently prepping our home, >>>s/v Legato<<<, and two of our >>>Aristocat Charters<<< catamarans as well as his own boat (read his wife and my good friend Jody's Hurricane Plan). With the help of our amazing employees Jorn and Brian, I am confident they are doing right by us. But they also have to prepare themselves, their homes and boats as well, and I feel very guilty adding to an already stressful workload for all of them. I cannot adequately express my gratitude for their efforts on our behalf...

Another element of this excruciating waiting game is the simple fact that hurricanes make a rather slow progression forward - about 15 mph to be exact - and that means we watch them for days and days and days before we know with good probability exactly where they will go... The silver lining to this is of course the ability to see them coming (most of the time) and give people ample time to prepare, the hard part is watching a hurricane march ominously toward your island at the pace of a healthy jogging human which, for the record, feels painfully slow. And then there is the fact that we have so much to lose there. The potential loss makes me sick to consider but it's hard not to; our home, our business - all are literal sitting ducks in the water. Yes, we are insured. Yes, these things can be replaced. But the thought of utter devastation - and losing most everything we own - breaks my heart, and even though it feels selfish to be so worried when we are our of harms way and other's will have it way worse than us, tears well up in my eyes at the thought of what could happen and what it means for us.

So we wait.

***

It is Sunday and it is looking like Irma will pass by or over our rock sometime Tuesday or Wednesday night. The next 48 hours will be crucial and determine with more precision where she will go but hurricanes - like all of mother nature's incredible forces - are wild and unpredictable. We will not have real answers until after she has left us in her wake. Hopefully, with as little damage as possible.

In the words of our Isla, who just a few hours ago looked into my worried eyes and said, "Don't worry mommy. If our stuff tips over it's okay, it's just stuff. The most important things are people." And she is right. Our wise, wonderful child.

Our thoughts are with all our island friends, neighbors, fellow boaters and everyone in Irma's path.

"The most important things are people." Stay safe, everyone. And a heartfelt "thank you" to our amazing >>>Windtraveler Community<<< for all the thoughts, vibes, and prayers. We appreciate your support more than you know.

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

I Smell a Rat, Part Two: The Capture

(To read the beginning of this story whereby we discovered we had a rat, read Part One)

I had just drifted off to a slumber at the wee hour of 3am when I heard a sort of frantic scrambling sound coming from our walk-thru area. I opened my eyes and laid still. All was quiet except for the babbling brook and chirping birds of the "rainforest" setting on Isla's sound machine. Then, a few seconds later, more frantic scrambling. "What the..?" I thought to myself. And then, no sooner did I have that thought when I realized with a genuine mix of panic, horror and excitement that: WE GOT THE RAT! I sprung up in bed. "Scott!!" I exclaimed in a loud whisper, shaking him by the arm a little more aggressively than one enjoys while still deep in sleep. The sound of more frantic flailing punctuated my urgency. "Oh my god!! Get up now!!" I shook him a little more. And finally, I spelled it out for him, "We. got. the. rat!!"

Scott is not one to wake up instantly (that sort of "at alert" type of waking is reserved for us mother's I think) and after some grumbling and mumbling, he sat up. "Listen...." I said, indicating to lay still and pay attention. We did. Quiet. And then...the unmistakable sound of a captured critter trying to break free. GAH!!! Scott looked at me with saucer-wide eyes and then got down from our bunk. There are a couple things to note about the flailing we were hearing: The first was that the rat was clearly still alive which we hadn't really bargained for. The second, was that - judging from the thumps and thuds caused by his body weight - we were dealing with a rat of substance. But that was neither here nor there at this point, the important thing was that we had him. But now what?

"Oh my god.." I whispered to Scott, careful not to wake Isla who was sleeping not five feet away from us, and not two feet away from the trapped rat. "What if we've only got his tail or his foot in the trap?" My eyes grew wide, "What if he get's away!?! For the love of God we CANNOT LET HIM GET AWAY!" Scott got up and slowly tiptoed into the walk thru area. I was crouched on our bed in the aft cabin, with a clear view into the hall, watching with eager anticipation. "What should I do?" Scott whispered back at me. "I don't want to open this door, scare him and have him break free from the trap..." he trailed off and went to get his head torch in the nav station. More frantic fish-out-of-water-style flailing ensued. Isla, somehow, was still out cold during this ordeal. I prayed that she didn't wake up. No amount of therapy could erase what was about to go down from an impressionable three year old mind.

Scott returned to the walk thru with his head torch glowing red, wielding a small frying pan. "What the hell is that for?" I whispered. He quickly motioned for me to be quiet, and then slowly opened the garbage locker. The bin was clearly blocking the view, and I saw him contort a few ways to try and get a good look. He then tenderly closed the door, and disappeared back into the galley area, taking the red glow with him. More thrashing and suddenly, a new sound...A sort of wheezing whine that *almost* sounded like a faint baby cry. I was disturbed.

The red glow and Scott, returned again. This time with an even bigger frying pan and a giant workman's glove. "Jesus Christ, Scott!" I spat. "What the hell!?! How big is this thing?" He turned to me with a comical smirk and with an uneasy chuckle replied, "It's not a field mouse." I could not stop muttering "ohmygod.ohmygod.ohmygod" on repeat, hugging my legs in the fetal position out of sheer disgust. Scott told me to give it a rest and turned back to the cupboard. More thrashing. More wheezing. Surely this thing would die soon?! And why the hell was he alive anyway!?! Weren't traps meant to kill rodents?!?!

Scott opened the cubby again, looked around some more. And paused. He shut the cubby and returned to the aft cabin. He took the head lamp of like a soldier would take off his helmet from a recon mission. He paused. "The rat is substantial" he started, "My worry is that he's going to get free if I scare him too much. He's thrashing around pretty good in there. I'm not sure what to do." If there is one thing that I am famous for in our duo it is the fact that, more often than not, I think very fast on my feet and come up with great solutions in a pinch. "Grab the glue trap in the shoe cubby" I told him. "Slide it next to the rat. Next time he thrashes, he'll land on that and then we'll know we've got him by at least two ways. Surely he won't get free then." "Good thinking," he replied. He replaced his head lamp, grabbed the trap and went back to ground zero.

The cubby was opened, yet again. More scrambling. More eerie crying. Scott slid the glue trap into the bottom of the locker like it was infected with ebola, recoiled and shut the door. Visible sighs all around. More thrashing and then, quiet. Scott grabbed our little Olympus tough camera from the nav station, opened the door again, stuck his arm in, took a few pics, checked them and, once again, shut the door. He started back toward me again with a smile. "He's on the glue trap. Wanna see?" He wore a twisted smirk. Of course I didn't want to see, but just as one must gawk at an accident on the highway, so must I look at the rat that has been our roommate for God knows how long. "Ugh. Okay" I replied. Scott handed me the camera but not before warning, "He's....substantial." I looked at the pictures and, yes, he was bigger than we thought (but not city alley style) and utterly disgusting and all of that, but I actually felt sorry for the damn thing all helpless, scared and probably hurting in there. I closed my eyes and shook my head in an attempt to erase the images from my mind and get back to business. Pity or no pity, I wanted him dead and gone as quickly as possible.

"Now what do we do?" Scott looked at me hopefully. I was on again. I pondered our next steps for  a moment. "We need to drown him. We can't let him suffer like this." I said, my rat sympathy shining through. "Okay," Scott started. "But how do we do that?" I thought some more. "What if we just throw all that crap into the ocean?" Scott considered this for a second. "It'll probably float with the clamp and especially the glue trap..." he trailed off. He was right. And, anyway, as desperate of a time as this was - it certainly didn't warrant us littering in the ocean. My eyes squinted as I thought some more and then, a lightbulb. "I've got it!" I said with the excitement of a child who's just solved a puzzle. "Take the garbage bag out of the trash bin, put the rat - traps and all - in there. Then we'll take it off the boat and fill the bin with water from the hose." "Good idea!" Scott was happy we finally had a solution. By the looks on our faces and tones of our voices you'd never guess we were plotting to commit murder. By now it was about 4am. This ordeal took every minute of an hour.

Scott went back to the walk thru where Isla was still sleeping soundly, but this time I followed. Scott opened the cubby and took out the garbage bin. I grabbed the garbage bag and brought it on deck. "We'll throw him away in here when he's dead" I whispered. Scott nodded in agreement as he donned the hefty work glove. With a few swift movements, Scott had the rat in the bottom of the bin and we were on deck high-fiving that ratty was officially no longer in our boat. But there was little time for celebration, we still had work to do. The poor rat was still alive, after all.  We brought the bin off the boat and over by the hose. "I feel so bad for him," I said. "Maybe we can set him free far, far away?" "Absolutely not," Scott said. "He might remember where we live and anyway, he's probably dying. Best to put him out of his misery." I agreed, but it was terrible to see an animal suffer and know we were the cause of it. Even though he was a rat and even though I hated him for eating my most favorite pair of shoes, I felt bad for the little guy.

Scott grabbed the hose. The rat had already slowed his thrashing down and I like to think he sensed the end was near. "Turn it on" Scott said firmly. I did. The night was eerie still. There was not a sound to be heard except that of the water slowly filling the plastic bin. The lights of the dock cast a yellow tinge all around us and after the tub was about 1/2 way full, Scott signaled to turn it off. I walked over to see our rat squirm a bit, take what appeared to be three deep, big gulps, and then - everything stopped. He was gone. I shuddered in the night's clammy chill when it dawned on me that I'd never use the idiom "like a drowned rat" quite the same ever again.

We drained the water and Scott put him into the trash bin to throw out at the dumpster. I washed out the garbage can, disinfected it with Lysol and when Scott returned, we retired back into the boat to bed. But not after excitedly recounting the details of the last hour like a couple of teens recounting a good senior prank.

We slept a little easier that night.

But now I can't help but lay awake and wonder: Was he alone?

Boat life, I tell you, never a dull moment.

* Those of you interested, our rat was trapped using the T-Rex Rat Trap with a glob of peanut butter and a chunk of cured meat (sausage) on the trigger.

I Smell a Rat: Rodents and Boats Don't Mix

We have a rat on our boat. At least we think it's just one, I guess we can't really be sure. We've been told it's a "small" one, a "juvenile" to be exact. Not that this minor detail makes me sleep any better at night, because it does not. A rat is a rat in my book (I mean, the word itself is disgusting enough to make me gag), and in my boat - they are not only not welcome, but really, really bad news.

The first sign of trouble was when our lovely neighbor was packing up his boat to go home . "Hey there..." he seemed apprehensive and I got the sense bad news was coming. "I feel like I need to tell you..." he paused. "We have a rat or a mouse on board." He made a "sorry to be the bearer of bad news" face and I thanked him for the warning and bid him adieu. Rats are not an issue at this marina, there are marina cats everywhere and if a rat is found on a boat here - it's often brought from another place. Call me naive, but armed with this knowledge and a little of the "it won't happen to me" mentality, I didn't really consider his rat might become our rat. Unfortunately for us, that is precisely what happened.

***

For the record, I keep a very clean boat. All food is double bagged or in airtight containers. I wipe all counters with antibacterial surface spray multiple times a day. Floors are cleaned every couple days. I hand vacuum after every meal. I diffuse essential oil like a boss. Dishes are done immediately. No food is left out on counter. I have been told by more than a few people that I have OCD tendencies...Having three toddlers, however, means that no matter how hard I try to keep messes at bay, there's always a little morsel or two left up in the cockpit after any given outing. A nibble of cracker here, a piece of popcorn there... No doubt these little snacks are what lured our neighboring rat aboard, thus turning him into a resident. This is very, very bad for a plethora of reasons.

Not only do rats carry disease and are, in general, the physical manifestations of all things disgusting - they wreak a tremendous amount of havoc where they reside. They can destroy an astounding amount of property in a very short time. They have been known to critically damage infrastructure (by eating their way through integral pieces), sink boats (by chewing through essential hoses), and even start fires (by gnawing on wires, causing them to short). Yep. Despite what most people (who haven't had the pleasure of dealing with rats) think, a rodent's greatest weapon is not their significant 'ick factor', but their teeth. You see, one fun factoid about rats is that their beveled incisors, open-rooted and highly specialized for 'gnawing', never stop growing and in order to prevent themselves from getting 'long in the tooth' (literally), they must continuously chew and brux in order to keep their length at bay. What do they chew on you ask? Well, anything. Plastic hose, wire, and leather are all fair game. Just take a look at what our resident rat did to my favorite pair of (discontinued, formerly Grecian-style) sandals in a single evening:

This was literally my favorite pair of "fancy" sandals. Gone. This means war!

***

"I hear something," I whispered in a hushed tone to Scott. It was three a.m. and I was reading in bed, waving the white flat to my insomnia when I heard the distinct clicking sound of something chewing. "It's the ****ing rat!" I gasped as I grabbed his arm and finally shook him awake. "He's in our shoe cubby!" I said, laying completely still and horrified. This was the very first we'd heard of our rat. Sure, we'd seen signs. A few droppings under floorboards, a roll of paper towel with nibble marks and, the most peculiar, a half-eaten Mr. Clean magic eraser. All of these items lived at the bottom of the cupboard where we keep our garbage and it was, up until this moment, the only place we'd seen any real signs of a rat or mouse aboard. No indication whatsoever in our main living area, upper cabinetry or where we keep our food... a small relief for sure. After consideration, however, it's most unsettling because our rat resides out of sight in the under belly of our boat where pretty much all the important systems, hoses and wires that keep our boat working and floating *also* live. Suuuuper.

The next morning Scott emptied out our shoe cubby and we discovered that our rat does indeed love shoes. He ruined no fewer than four pairs. We cleaned out the locker, disinfected and Scott reconfigured our array of mouse traps because, prior to the shoe incident, we were pretty sure it was a mouse (which now seems so much less disgusting) and not a rat. I posted the shoe pic to our Facebook Page (to temper all the beautiful pictures of paradise I post!) and not only did our fans pretty much confirm the work was that of a rat, but that the traps we had set were not going to get him. Awesome.

Later that morning, I was walking down the dock with the girls, reeling from our morning of shoe destruction, when I noticed a man in dark shades walking down the dock with what appeared to be a rat trap in his had. Of course I stopped him. "Hi," I started, awkwardly. "Is that a rat trap you have?" I asked, hopeful. He looked at me, "Are you from the boat Asante?" He had the cool confidence of someone who eradicates vermin for a living. Confused, I replied that I was. "These are for you then, I hear you have a rat aboard. Bring me to the boat and let's see what we're dealing with."

I walked him down the dock, still confused at how he knew about our issue. "Did my husband call you?" I asked. "No, Brendan called me and told me to come down." Later that day I would see Brendan, the awesome marina manager here, and he would confirm that he saw my Facebook post and immediately called his guy to come help. I thanked him profusely, "It's what we do" he said with a smile (have I mentioned how much I love it here?) Anyway, I digress...

He came aboard, and after looking under a few floorboards and at some droppings gave his diagnosis: "You have a rat. But it's a small rat. A juvenile. And it's just one. Not a big problem..." he replaced a floorboard and started unwrapping the giant glue traps, "We will get him. We just need to be patient." I replied that I wasn't so sure how patient I could be, I mean - were my kids going to get diseased from this thing? "Only about one in a few hundred rats are actually diseased. If you get bit, that's bad - but as long as he's not in your food and contaminating what you eat...you're fine." He placed the glue traps strategically in a few areas we knew our rat had been, placed a glob of peanut butter in the big snap trap and stuck it in the bottom of garbage locker, aka "ground zero". He showed me how to work it, reminded me that it could break my finger, and said he'd check back in a few days.

That was a few days ago.

***

We still have not caught our rat. I've now moved from peanut butter to hard salami, which he appears to enjoy because he's been GETTING IT OUT OF THE TRAP. So I know he's still here despite the fact that I have not heard him or seen any signs of him since the shoe incident. But knowing he's here, living underneath us, and being all-too-aware of the damage that he is no doubt causing horrifies me. What if he chews through a thru-hull hose? What if he gnaws a hole in our propane line? So much about this keeps me awake at night. All the disinfecting of our bilge that has to happen, the fear of actually seeing him during my nightly bathroom break, the fact that we will probably be discovering his destruction for weeks and months to come...it. is. awful. The mind reels, and it's no fun.

But we'll get him, of that I am sure. If we could deal with (and successfully eradicate) cockroaches, we can deal with this stowaway. There's simply no other option.

Any ideas, tips and tricks are welcome! Stay tuned....

EDITOR'S NOTE: We caught him the night this posted. Blog post to come. Long story short: He is no longer of this world.

The kids thoroughly enjoy checking the traps.

The grab a flashlight and demand, "Mouse! Mouse!" because they want see it. #parentsoftheyear

Illness Aboard: Getting Acquainted with Cabin Fever

Hand, foot and mouth. It sounds more like a children's song than a medical diagnosis, but it is a highly contagious (and super menacing) "disease" that is - according to many parents - one of the worst child viruses to have in your home. I will add that it's also a terrible one to have on your boat. The last few days have been some of my most challenging since living aboard, culminating in an epic 'ugly cry' last night as I cradled my inconsolable baby and let the overwhelm take over.

No sooner had I finished writing about what a (relatively) 'smooth transition' this has been when I started noticing what I thought were bug bites popping up on Haven's legs. After two days of more bumps surfacing and fussiness of epic proportions (and, trust me, you don't want to meet fussy Haven!) it dawned on me: hand, foot and mouth disease. Isla had it around the same age back when we were in Grenada so I was familiar with what it could look like and the havoc it would wreak. Even still, I hit Google to confirm and sure enough, Haven's is a text book case, with the "bites" turning into oozing blisters and scars all over her body and mouth. My poor little Gerber baby looks like a leper.

The night I confirmed the illness was the worst. I resorted to co-sleeping, crammed up in the v-berth with the girls while Haven cried and writhed in pain every fifteen minutes. She'd scream and squirm in pain, despite the Motrin I had dosed her with before bed, and nuzzle up to me for comfort. Then Mira, upset at being awoken from deep slumber and also wanting mommy, would start screaming and try to nuzzle up to me, knocking Haven out of the way. The two of them would fight and cry over my upper body's limited real estate, and it would take a while to setting them back down. This happened over, and over, and over all. night. long. Needless to say, it was a sleepless night for all of us and a very long day followed with ill-behaved under-napped children and a boat that I'm shocked was not reported to authorities from the amount of blood-curdling screaming coming from within. This exhausted mama hit a low point and was at wit's end most hours of the day. Not my finest hours by a long shot.

Illness with little ones is no fun, period. It is significantly less fun on a boat. Scott, who has been burning the midnight oil and putting in twelve hour days at work, has not been around to help me much as we get our new endeavor up and running (details coming soon, I swear!) - so I've been battling this on my own. Pre-diagnosis, I was taking our girls on outings to the beach, pool and park on heavy rotation with my girlfriend Darcy and her boys but because hand, foot and mouth (HFM) is so contagious, I can no longer adhere to my sanity-saving routine of keeping them out and about. Instead, I have to keep our girls quarantined and away from other children, meaning we are contained in our (relatively small) boat for hours and hours on end. This is not easy and very challenging. We don't have television and the twins are too young to enjoy videos or pass any adequate time on an iPad, and being in such close quarters means they are in each other's space a lot which, in turn, means tantrums, screams and fits that are enough to drive a solo mama to the nut house. I'm also told to keep them apart so the other two don't get it which is, quite literally, impossible considering our living arrangement and my lack of 'back up'.  We hope for the best: that the other two are spared and when Haven's episode runs it's course, we will be done with this.

Luckily, our boat is well-equipped with medical supplies to tend to sick kids, though we've rarely had to use them. We carry plenty of pain reliever and fever reducers such as Motrin, Tylenol to relieve pain as well as a healthy dose of topical ointments like Neosporin, Coconut oil and Calamine lotion to help skin ailments like the blisters. I'm a long-time fan of using essential oils on our boat, and when I was back home my sister-in-law, Julie, introduced me to the beauty of diffusing them for household wellness, and I have been diffusing a combination of Thieves and Purification oils in my awesome portable USB mini aroma diffuser. I've also combined Lavender oil with a carrier lotion to apply to Haven's skin to help with her sores. All of these efforts seem to be helping and, knock on wood, so far the rest of us have been spared this awful affliction.

Staving off cabin fever associated with quarantining three small kids on a boat is almost as difficult as fighting the real illness. We've been rotating our two iPads, introducing toys in shifts and reading lots of books. We're getting creative making forts and, literally, climbing up the walls but I think we might be on the mend. Haven slept through the night last night (hallelujah!) and seems significantly happier today. In a few days time, we might just venture out. For now, we'll remain as quarantined as we can on the boat, with breaks for a meal or two here and there and trips to the ice cream shop for treats to soothe Haven's sore throat.  Big thanks to all of you who have given us advice, thoughts and well-wishes on our Facebook Page, it's nice to know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and be reminded that "this too, shall pass."

Haven has sores like this all over her body.

Just a few on her hand. She's hard to photograph because she's always moving, but there were many more!

Legos offer great entertainment, until all three girls want the same Lego piece!

Playing with our Imaginets

The stairs are a hot play zone!

Playing nicely together...some of the time ;)

Raising Kids: It Takes a Village. Not a Call to the Police.

"Mommakong" original artwork by Chelsea Stephen Illustration

I suppose that living on a sailboat in the Caribbean with my husband and our three small children indicates I have a slightly different take on "risk" than most. That said, I consider myself a pretty good mom. Like all parents I tend to swing the pendulum... At a baseline my kids are bathed, fed, clothed, hugged, kissed, entertained, and know they are loved tremendously. On my really, really good days, I think I'm above average, maybe even a "super mom." On my really, really bad days, I try to calculate how much therapy will un-do the screwing up I have inevitably done. Most days, I live somewhere in the middle. However, the day the cops were called on me for what another parent viewed as neglect? That day I felt pretty damn crappy.

***

Let me preface this by saying I am, by my own choice and innate instincts, a pretty "laid back" mom. Some call it 'free range' others call it irresponsible. I call it 'parenting without instilling fear.' I do not operate on the assumption that everything and everyone is out to get my kids. And while I know that the world can be a scary place, I make a very conscious choice not to to put fear in the driver's seat of my life. Turns out, I parent this way as well. I'm the mom at the park sitting contentedly on a bench while my eighteen-month old twins climb an apparatus deemed "above" their age limit. I'm the mom at the library thumbing through books to read later to my girls while the three of them run amok in different play areas. I give them a wide berth to explore this world and intervene when I see something I think is too dangerous.  While I believe this makes me the polar opposite of a "helicopter" parent, I certainly don't think it classifies me as a neglectful one.

***

I was scheduled to take all three girls to the pediatrician for shots while my husband was out of town and realized we were out of ibuprofen right before leaving. Not good. Any mom of multiples will tell you that staying one step ahead of the game is key to survival: not only would ibuprofen help take the edge off the pain of the shots (each twin was getting three), but we always like to have it on hand in case of a fever spike (not uncommon when you have three kids three and under.) Without this kind of forethought, it's too easy for chaos to reign (and believe me, chaos reigns from time to time.) It was 10:50 am. Our appointment was scheduled for 11:15. We’d finish no sooner than 11:50. Lunch time at 12:00. Nap at 12:30. When - and how - would I be able to stop at a drugstore while alone with three very active toddlers?

I hopped in the car after wrangling all three girls into their seats (not an easy feat) and was on my way. I had 15 minutes to pick up my aunt who kindly offered to help me with the girls during their appointment and get to the doctor. I made the quick decision to stop on the way at my local Walgreens because waiting until after the appointment risked pushing past lunchtime with very cranky, sore and hungry kids. Not the best time for errand-running.

I pulled the car into a parking spot right in front of the pharmacy doors and quickly weighed my options, keeping in mind we had 15 minutes till 'go' time: Option 1: Wrangle all girls into the store, with no stroller or baby carriers, and try to contain them as I shuffled to the medicine aisle. My (easily) 10 minute option. Option 2: Put the car in park, crack the windows, lock the doors and run in to grab the medicine by myself. My (easily) two minute option.

I chose Option 2. THE HORROR!

I gave the girls a big smile, told them I loved them, reminded them to be good and ran into the store. I know the layout well considering our home is mere blocks away. I ran right to the aisle for the meds and grabbed a few cheese sticks from the refrigerator on my way back down (in case our appointment ran late and the girls needed something more substantial than Cheerios.) Just as I turned the corner to check out, the clerk pointed at me with wide eyes and announced, "THERE SHE IS!"

I knew immediately what was coming.

"What's going on?" I asked as I picked up my pace.

"Those are your kids in the car, right?" she questioned. "The police are on their way. That lady out there called the cops. You can't leave your kids in the car" she said, shaking her head in disbelief as I ran past her.

I dropped my basket and ran outside. My heart was racing. I quickly came face to face with a squat middle aged woman who had an attitude to share and a cross to bear.

"Are those your kids? You can't leave your kids in the car!" she said as she lumbered toward me, he husband meekly lurking behind her. "I called the police" she shrugged with a smirk.

"Are you SERIOUS?" I said, struggling for words, trying to assess whether or not she was bluffing while I fumbled for my keys, "I'm alone with three small kids, we have a doctor's appointment in ten minutes...I was getting them MEDICINE. I was in there for less than TWO MINUTES..." I stammered off and hoofed it over to my car.

"Well, I had *four* kids and I *never* left them alone in the car," she yelled after me matter of factly with an air of superiority, really punctuating 'four' and 'never'. I shook my head in disgust and hopped in the driver's seat. I turned around and looked at my three happy girls entertaining themselves - luckily with no idea what was going on.

I started the car. If she truly had called the cops, they were going to have to have to come and find me. I wasn't going to wait around when it would mean missing the coveted (and very difficult to acquire) twin vaccination appointment with our favorite pediatrician. I put the car in gear and drove off with my heart racing.

***

I know that leaving kids in cars is a big hot topic these days. We’ve all read the worst of the stories whether accidental or due to misguided parenting.

But this was not that scenario. Or maybe I've spent too much time in the Caribbean where parents are more relaxed and where I have carted my kids around in the back of pick-up trucks and other such atrocities.

I had assessed the situation and calculated my risk before I'd made my move: The car was off with no keys. The girls were secure in their car seats. It was a comfortable 70 degrees outside. The windows were cracked. The doors were locked. No small toys or snacks in arm’s reach. Happy attitudes. No tears. What could go wrong?

Sure, an axe wielding madman could bash open a window and maybe wrestle one child out of her seat before I returned. And, yes, I suppose it is possible a meteor could come falling out of the sky and land on our vehicle. I've read of sinkholes before, so there is always a chance that one could swallow our car in the few minutes I'd be gone. And I guess there is the remotest possibility that I could suffer a heart attack or aneurysm while in the store, leaving my children alone in the car until someone noticed. Spontaneous fire? Alien abuduction? Attack by a stowaway squirrel? The list of goes on... I weighed the risk and felt pretty confident none of those things were going to occur in the time I would be in the store. Call me crazy.

What I did not factor in was a busybody looking for her moment to shine at my expense, which is far more insidious - and common - than any of the other scenarios I considered.

***

To say this experience shook me is like saying I like a glass of wine every now and then… I was rattled and kept playing it over and over in my head. I went through with the appointment, managed to get the girls fed and in bed for their naps, and then, driven by the incredibly unnerving feeling that maybe cops were going to show up at my door, I hit the internet. I wanted to know a) if what I did was, in fact, illegal and b) if I needed to be ready for police and/or the Department of Child and Family Services to show up at my door with a warrants. A quick Google search taught me that laws vary state to state, however here in Illinois, it is perfectly legal to leave a child in a car for less than ten minutes. Phew.

Knowing I hadn't broken the law certainly eased my nerves, but did nothing to quell the terrible feeling of being humiliated and 'mommy shamed' by the clerk and woman outside. I called the store to complain, after which they apologized and told me that the police had not, in fact, shown up. The woman was either lying to me to prove a point or the cops didn't see reason to follow up. Either way, the whole situation made me think.

***

As a child of the '80's I don't ever remember being in a car seat. My siblings and I spent plenty of time waiting in the car while our mom ran a quick errand. We would regularly walk to the neighborhood park, without an adult, and play for hours. On weekends, we were set loose in the neighborhood in the morning and expected to be home at dinnertime. I was regularly sent door to door to track down my little sister who, at the age of 4 or 5, was prone to wandering off in search of a neighbor to give her a cookie. If we fell off our bike a neighbor or sibling would carry us home. If we ran late our parents would start calling around to track us down. That was parents trusting their children, their own instincts, and each other.

Yes, it takes a village to raise children, however MY village is one where we look out for one another and our children – NOT one where we try to find the best way to point fingers and play sheriff. If what that woman had really cared about was my kids, she could have waited by my car for a minute to give me a chance and then assess the situation. She could have had her husband run into the store and have the clerk call me on the loud speaker. Witnessing my kids in no distress and no immediate danger did not warrant a call to the police. Had she waited that single minute more, she would have found a slightly frazzled, very rushed, and very alone mother of three who left her kids in the car for less than five minutes to grab some medicine.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in safety and being vigilant about what’s happening around us… Car seats, bike helmets, and laws protecting the most vulnerable are all important. But, so is supporting each other. So, instead of pointing fingers, judging and - for heaven's sake - calling the cops... Perhaps we take a moment to offer a hand.

If we do this, the world we be a much less scary place. I promise.

Flying with Three Kids Three and Under is Not Fun

Shocker, right? But for the 1% of you who are surprised by this revelation; air travel and toddlers pair about as well as socks and sandals. You can do it, but it doesn't look pretty. My recent travel stint from Tortola, BVI to Chicago, IL might be the most exhausting day of my life. And, for the record, I have toddling twins who, for the first four months of their precious lives, slept on my person and nursed every two hours. So I know a thing or two about exhaustion.

Granted, two out of three of our girls were complete angels the entire twelve hour day. But - as they say - one bad apple can spoil the bunch. And one screaming toddler on a plane is all it takes to make you look like a jack-ass parent. Who cares if the other two are wonderful and quiet and good? The "bad" one will ensure you don't get the "What good children you have!" compliment down at baggage claim. Ho-hum.

Turns out, Haven and airplane-style containment don't mix.

The day started off okay, I was packed and prepped. Traveling with kids is sort of our "thing" so I was organized and had all the necessary gear (umbrella strollers, Ergo carriers, an arsenal of snacks and a few select toys being the most important) to make the trip as smooth as possible without being overburdened with clutter. I felt pretty good about it, but was wary... Our twins are sixteen months old which, in my opinion, falls smack dab in the center of the age range when travel with children should be avoided at all costs. These children are old enough to stave off sleep and throw tantrums of epic proportions, yet too young to actually entertain themselves (read: sit still) for any significant length of time....Yep, the toddler is your travel nemesis.

The first sign of the hell that would follow came in the cab ride to the airport. Haven, our twin who is often described as "wild" ("You can just see it in her eyes!" they say) and affectionately referred to as "hell on wheels" came undone in the cab. Carseats are not required in the Caribbean and we don't have room for that sort of thing on our boat so we sat the kids in the second row and buckled them in. Isla (our three year old) and Mira sat quietly and peacefully but Haven decided she wanted to explore. In the cab. While it was moving. Imagine traveling in a car with a spider monkey on meth. It was like that for the entire thirty minute drive.

Then, things started looking up. The first airport was fine. The first forty-five minute flight was fine. Heck, even the second airport (complete with three hour layover) was fine. I had done well in my preparation and the girls were fed, entertained, and we had the right mix of gear to get them through security (aka: the portal to hell for families traveling with small children) and to the gate with nary a meltdown or fuss. I was proud of my planning and I mistakenly gave myself a silent pat on the back as we began to board our second, and final, flight.

A flight, mind you, that was over four hours.

That is a very long time for a very active lap baby.

We took off and all three girls fell asleep, the twins in the ergo carriers (Mira on my mom, Haven on me) and Isla in her own seat at my side. It was bliss and I was feeling very 'boss mom'. When the flight attended came over and asked if I'd like anything, I quietly requested wine and peanuts. She brought them and no sooner had I taken a first nibble of peanut and sip of wine when Haven started stirring. Shit. Turns out, when a baby is sleeping on your chest very close to your neck, they can hear you chew and gulp. I held my breath, said a quick prayer to all things Holy that she would zonk back out while simultaneously cursing my wine "habit", but it was all for naught; she began to thrash further in the carrier and wanted OUT. I handed the flight attendant my wine (after taking a healthy gulp), stood up and did the desperate "mom bounce" in the aisle. Cue the seatbelt light.

Greeeaaat.

Haven would have none of it. With wide eyes, kicking legs, and clawing arms she started screaming in protest. And if there is one thing I can tell you about this child, it's that she is LOUD. Louder than you can possibly imagine.

I looked at my mom across the aisle who's face was a mask of sheer horror. She knows Haven. She's endured the wrath of the pterodactyl cry. She was afraid - for the other passengers, for me - we had three solid hours of flying to go. This was not looking good.

With much bouncing and many snacks, I managed to get her quiet and out of the carrier, but not after she'd woken up both her sisters and disturbed everyone on the plane. Luckily, we were surrounded by wonderful passengers (#thankyouUniverse) so no one gave me the stink eye or made any rude comments about me controlling my unruly child. In fact, I think most people were just happy they were not me on that flight. It was very, very clear that I had my hands full and was doing everything in my power to keep the kids (well, Haven) at bay.

Turns out, flying with Haven is not unlike giving a cat a bath. All arms and legs and grabbing and wrangling and struggling and plying with snacks and toys and "hey look, something shiny!" At one point, she was hanging off the seat in front of us and at another she managed to unscrew the overhead light. Of course she activated our flight attendant call button a half dozen times. Luckily, despite her rambunctious nature, Haven is flirtatious, outgoing and utterly adorable so our attendant (and flight neighbors) didn't seem to mind her too much. Or if they did, they weren't letting on (again, #thankyouUniverse).

When we finally landed in Chicago, over twelve hours after our day began and three hours past our kids' bedtimes sans naps, I was finished, the kids were finished and so was my mom.

"That was hell" she said to me with a dead-pan face as we reconvened at baggage claim after a much needed bathroom break, "if I were you, I wouldn't fly again until those girls are three."

I laughed. Because, really, what else can you do?

Yes, it was hard. It was exhausting and frustrating and, at times, embarrassing. But it could have been much, much worse. At least Haven is happy. Sure, she's a handful. But she's a happy handful. I'll take that over an unhappy handful any day.

Luckily, parenthood comes with a sort of amnesia that keeps us keeping on. Despite the hellish road trips, vacations gone awry, holidays gone haywire and madness-inducing flights - we move on in a "this too shall pass" fashion; knowing, hoping and - for some of us - praying that the next time will be better. And it may or may not be, but such is life. We are blessed to be on this wild ride.

It's all part of the adventure. And what an adventure it is.

I just hope that during the next flight, I can get a full glass of wine in me. It definitely takes the edge off.

Adventures in Boating (Note: Kids Complicate Things)

Do not be fooled, these cutie pies can take a situation from bad to worse in no time.

We'd just had a teary farewell with the crew of s/v Necesse in Christmas Cove, USVI and made our way to Soper's Hole, Tortola. The small craft advisory, heavy winds and sporadic squalls that pushed back our departure date the previous day could hold us back no longer. We had business to tend to in Road Town, and time was of the essence. We headed out. Despite the strong winds (20-27 knots) the sail was uneventful, if not a little wet, and the girls happily slumbered in their berths the entire 2.5 hour trip, which made the passage that much easier.

Soper's Hole is not an ideal place to anchor. It's relatively deep (30+ feet) and very crowded. Despite this, we've found a "secret spot". We dropped anchor in our usual place tucked up in the bay near a marina, and Scott and I did the ole "divide and conquer" routine to get what we needed done as efficiently as possible. It was decided that Isla and I would head into Road Town (a 30 minute trip by car) and Scott would take the twins on a hike. He dropped off Isla and I on shore, and we began the process of hitchhiking. Within minutes we had a ride-share that, for $20, promised to take us where we were going as well as pick us up at 5pm.

With Isla strapped to me in her Tula Toddler Carrier , I zipped around Road Town from agency to agency, getting what we needed to get and delivering what we needed to deliver, finishing up by 4:30 pm. With a half hour to kill, Isla and I ventured to one of our favorite take-out places, Roti Queen, and got three vegetarian rotis ($5 a piece) to bring back to the boat for dinner. We also sprang for a small slice of carrot cake to nibble on while we watched Bollywood music videos on the screen above the counter and waited for our ride.

5:00pm came and went. We waited. And waited. And waited.

When it became clear our ride was not coming, I headed to the main road and flagged down a taxi. A minor snafu in the plan, but no big deal, as these types of hiccups are par for the course down here. We're used to it.

Scott and I had been communicating via text throughout the afternoon. He was returning to the boat to start the babies' dinner and would pick up Isla and I at the ferry dock in ten or fifteen minutes. All was well.

When Isla and I arrived at the dock, I looked over at our boat across the way. It appeared to be swooping in half moons. It was gusty, for sure. But something didn't look right at all...My stomach sank. Wait a minute...was it...could it be...moving!?! I tried to focus on Asante as I quickly handed the driver her fare and got Isla out of the car. Yes, the boat was definitely moving. Dragging? No. Moving. The engine was on, the tell tale spurt of water from the stern told me that. But...why? I could vaguely make out Scott at the helm as the boat continued to swinging widely, making swift movements and turns with the engine in full gear.

My heart began to race. Armed with the knowledge that a) Scott was alone with the babies b) it was well past their dinnertime and c) he was clearly struggling - I knew the situation on board was not ideal. Not by a long shot.

I watched nervously as I fumbled for our hand held VHF.

"Asante, Asante...this is Asante mobile" I called.
"This is Asante, go 09" Scott replied, quickly.
"Zero Nine" I repeated as I changed channels.
"What's happening Scott?" I asked, helplessly.
"Need to move" he snapped. I could hear the babies screaming loudly in the background.
"Yes, but why" I asked.
"Big Catamaran" he replied, as if in code "way too close" he finished with a snap.

Clearly, he couldn't elaborate but taking stock of the area I could see that a very large catamaran on the end of a t-dock had arrived while we were all out and we were clearly too close to it.

I held Isla on my lap and sat down on the dock. We helplessly watched and waited.

It was also about this time that I looked down at my bag and realized that I had left our rotis in the cab. Overwhelmed with the situation on what had already begun as a pretty crappy day, I started to cry. How the hell did I forget our dinner in the cab? "What a waste!" I cursed out loud.

"Mama, what's wrong" Isla asked, touching my face with her hand.
"Oh honey, it's okay," I wiped my eyes, "Mommy just left our roti's in the taxi and now we won't be able to have them for dinner". Realizing how ridiculous an example it was for her to see me cry over a few rotis, I gathered my emotions and smiled, "It's no big deal, honey, we can always get some more".

"Yeah" she echoed, "...we can always get some more".

We both went silent and looked back at the boat which by now had the anchor up and seemed to be doing a touch and go a the nearby dock. A blonde hopped aboard.

"Oh, good", I thought out loud, "I think Emily hopped on to help him".

"I like Emily" Isla chimed in.

Point for having friends all over the place in these islands. Emily is our age and lives here in Soper's Hole on her boat with her husband. She'd just arrived from a day charter when they noticed a boat struggling and realized it was ours. Right place, right time.

I could hear the babies screams from across the bay. A mama hearing her babies cry and being unable to get to them is a certain type of torture. I could only imagine the scene in the cockpit. Babies wailing in unison do absolutely nothing to help stressful boat situations, FYI.

"Scott, how's it going" I called on the radio when it appeared that he and Emily had the situation under control.

His voice was much more relaxed now, which instantly eased my worry, "We're fine. Emily's here, we're going to grab a private mooring that no one is on right now." The sense of accomplishment was clear in his voice. Everything was okay.

I sighed and felt all the tension escape my shoulders.

They secured the boat and Emily watched the girls while Scott picked up Isla and I. All was back to normal, the evening proceeded as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Because if there is one thing that babies and boats will do for you, it's teach you to decompress super quickly after the s*** hits the fan. It's just another day, another spike in blood pressure, and another crisis averted.

Boats Break A Lot. Or: Why Sailors Drink Rum

Boats are ticking time bombs. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but - really - the fact that our home is floating in one of the most corrosive environments on the planet (sun + saltwater... have you seen what these things do to stuff?!) means that everything from bathing suits to booster pumps (and, sadly, skin) have a severely truncated shelf life out here. Combine the harsh natural environment with the fact that a boat is constantly in motion with gear that is heavily used (and sometimes abused) means stuff breaks. A lot. Scott reckons he could be fixing and/or maintaining something every single day for several hours a day if he felt so inclined. And our boat is in "really good" condition.

And this is the part of cruising that drives many to denounce this lifestyle. This is even the part of cruising that wears down others enough to actually 'swallow the anchor' and move back to land. Most landlubbers have no idea how much work it takes to keep a full-time cruising boat afloat and in good working order. "I had no idea how hard this would be" is a cry I've heard from many a new cruiser. It can be a real shock to the person who envisioned cruising to be all that it looks like from our Facebook Pages (which, understandably, share predominantly the good stuff...and, don't get me wrong, there's a lot of good stuff).

What's worse is the fact that if you don't know how to fix the systems yourself, you are paying handsomely to have someone else do it for you.  I've written before on the virtues of having a handy person aboard, and it warrants repeating: if you want to live on a boat in paradise, get ready to roll up your shirt sleeves. It's work. Not "desk job" 9-5 work, but back-breaking, jury-rigging, bang-your-head-against-the-wall, contort-yourself-like-a-freak-show and sweat-a-full-bucket-while-you-do-it McGuyver-style work. It's unpredictable, it's sink or swim, and it often comes at the most inopportune time (example: engine dies as you are navigating a rough cut between islands). And before you tell me that "it sure beats XYZ", know that once the cruising honeymoon wears off, constantly "fixing your boat in exotic locations" (and possibly in hairy situations) can be incredibly frustrating, discouraging and downright maddening. Because it's not just the fixing that needs to happen, but the diagnosing (sometimes the hardest part of all), the sourcing of parts, and the research as well. Throw three small children into the mix who require a lot of attention and need naps at various times throughout the day (read: shhhhhhh!!!!) and it gets pretty tricky staying on top of it all. Sometimes, from our perspective, your cozy traditional home with unlimited power, water, amenities, proximity to child care and Trader Joe's looks just as appealing to us as our palm lined white sand beaches look to you. 

Sometimes. 

Don't get me wrong, it's the yin to the yang and the price we willingly pay for the tremendous benefits of this life afloat... but that doesn't mean we love it all the time. That is just life. There is no Utopia. For me living on a boat in the tropics with my family is about as close as it gets, but every rose has it's thorn and while I don't write this to complain, I do strive to paint a realistic picture.

I digress...

To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, here's a condensed list of what has broken on our boat in the last five months. It's important to note that we are not doing any "hard core" sailing or long passages, so wear and tear is way less on our boat than, say, a boat that is doing more serious miles or an ocean crossing. We do short (>4 hour) day sails and island hops, but sail often and all our our systems (from watermaker to windlass) are used regularly. These breakdowns are in no particular order and don't include the litany of things we fixed immediately when we came down here, nor do they include the impressive amount of general maintenance (must. polish. stainless.) that has to happen regularly. It also does not include the high priority "want to do" things like rewiring certain areas of the boat, finding a new home for our fridge compressor, getting our freezer up and running and re-locating our battery bank.

Here's whats broken this season:

1. We discovered our starboard side aluminum fuel tank has corroded and developed a pin hole leak. This is what you would consider a "BIG" (and probably very expensive) problem. Luckily for us, we have two very large fuel tanks and the leaky one was just about empty. Scott put together a pump to remove fuel from the leaky tank to the good tank with an old pump (read: sub-project) and we are still figuring out how and when we are going to deal with this issue.
2. Scott has had to repair the "boost pump" on our water maker three times (by literally taking it apart and fixing teeny tiny pieces that I think might be called 'scrubbers') and he's now just installed a brand new boost pump to hopefully remedy this issue. This job required electrical know-how, plumbing savvy, the mind of a Tetris champion, the hands of a surgeon and a lot of patience. (If you are counting, there are four fix-it projects within this one.)
3. Our mast was leaking. That needed to be fixed, stat. We used Spartite, it has proven effective.
4. Our generator's heat exchanger needed something super important. I can't remember what. I was chasing babies, managing tantrums and changing diapers. But it was a big thing, I remember that. Scott was in the engine compartment for a long time. Something about the raw water pump perhaps?
5. Our generator's battery died and needed replacing (we've since reconfigured our battery bank, see #10). A simple fix, but a nuisance none the less.
6. When letting out all our chain to see exactly how much we had marked, our windlass died and started sparking. Turns out, it was wired wrong and actually was a huge fire hazard. (Bullet: Dodged). Scott put on his electrician hat and fixed it. Now it works better than before. Oh, and now we know for sure we have 275 feet of chain marked. Win/win.
7. We ran out of propane. No biggie. Luckily we were able to have it refilled quickly (not always the case) but it sucked none the less.
8. The wooden seat on our bowsprit broke off in some nasty waves. Whatever, we never used it anyway. It sits in our cockpit locker until we have the "time" to fix it. Hahaha!! Time?!?! What's that?!?! Let's be honest, this is so low priority it's not getting done for a loooong time. Or ever.
9. Our engine's thermostat needed replacing because our engine kept giving us a false overheating alarm. We did it, but it seems our issue is back, though our engine is not overheating. Hmmmm. The plot thickens.
10. Our chart plotter has gone on the fritz and is more or less unusable. Thanks, Raymarine. Point for backup systems (handheld GPS) and paper charts!
11. A hose clamp came loose from our forward head sink, so that every time we used the water, most of it ended up in our bilge. Simple fix. But tracing back where all that water was coming from and why the bilge pump was going off was a bit tricky. 
12. Our galley plumbing consists of some cheap house-hold plumping (note: must replace all of it...later). One of the pipe fittings came loose under the sink gushing impressive amounts of saltwater into our bilge. Simple straightforward fix, but a bit alarming when Scott first noticed the bilge pump running non-stop and even more alarming when I looked into the bilge and saw a hefty river of saltwater rushing into our boat. This was all before the morning's first cup of coffee, mind you. I don't function well these days without coffee (see #7).
13. Our house battery bank died. Turns out, the crappy batteries we bought for a small fortune in St. Kitts were not a good "long term" solution (we had no other options at the time) so we needed to replace them. While doing this, Scott rewired our start battery and reconfigured our house bank (read: job within a job). We're pretty happy with our new setup. Our battery situation was far from perfect so this was a blessing in disguise. Side note: Boat batteries are not cheap (and my God are they heavy!)
14. Our outhaul snapped. We tied it to a u-bolt on the boom with a bowline, called it good and said we would fix it properly "later". This was about three months ago. Again...time?! What's time!?!
15. Our aft head clogged and needed to be unclogged. My poor sister was the one to do it (unclog it, I mean.)
16. Our aft head needs to be rebuilt.  When our toilet began to seep in seawater, it was a minor annoyance. Scott switched out the forward and aft head pumps and that solved our issue for a while, but the issues persists and it's clear we need some new o-rings and seals and a new toilet pump shaft. These items need to be sourced from the states and shipped down here. Not an urgent matter, but stepping onto a wet floor near a toilet (even if it is only seawater) is...gross.
17. All of our portholes need re-bedding and a good polish. We have eighteen of them. This is an incredibly laborious job that we just haven't had the time for. Say it with me folks...Time!?! What's that!?!?
18. Just about every wooden surface on our boat needs re-varnishing. Again, suuuper low priority and very labor intensive. Aka: This is not happening.

Hmmm...I think that's about it. Not too bad, really. But we could do without the leaking fuel tank. That one's gonna be a doozy.

And this right here might answer the age old question of "Why do sailors drink so much rum?" Answer: Because you need it at the end of long, fruitless day spent in a 110 degree engine room trying to diagnose why your thermostat isn't reading properly, or after a full day on the phone calling various islands trying to source batteries for your boat, or after four hours dealing with cranky customs people only to find out they're not the agency you need to deal with. You especially need it to celebrate the wins; the parts sourced, the cost-effective DIY that worked like butta, the problem solved... Okay, that and the fact that rum is literally cheaper than water down here. But still, like parenthood, cruising is a job that is not recognized as such. No one pats you on the back and says, "Well done" and the moments where you truly shine are often unseen. We don't do this for the accolades. Like parenthood, cruising is one of the most rewarding and gratifying jobs' you will ever love, despite the all the "work" it takes to keep going.

Until the next thing breaks, of course. But then, there's the rum.

What would us cruisers do without Nigel? 

The leaky fuel tank. This really warrants it's own blog post. Huge can of worms right here.

Scott jury-rigging a pump to siphon fuel from one tank to another.

Eben and Scott removing and installing our new battery bank.