Despite the list of projects that need time and attention before we can call Goblin our home full time, I want the kids to get used to her as much as possible before our official move in day. I’m planning as many overnights as possible over the next couple of weeks to get all of us used to the neighborhood, the boat, and the challenges of living on the water with two kids.
High on the project list, and most relevant to this adventure, is that Kinsley doesn’t yet have a bedroom. Until that’s finished, Owen and Kins are sharing the v-berth. They are both small, there’s a lot of space up there, it should work out fine temporarily.
Kins, in fine two year old fashion, decides that on this particular day, naps are for wimps and bounces around in her room during quiet time. I start planning an early dinner and running through scenarios about getting to Goblin. I have two kids, no husband, three heavy bags, two life jackets, and a potentially sleeping child. To get all this aboard Goblin means filling a dock cart, making our way all the way out along the docks, unloading, returning the cart, returning to the boat, unlocking and boarding, making the bed, and getting the kids settled in for the night. Pice of cake with a potentially sleeping kid, right?
We are on the road by six and Kinsley is continuing to bounce. She stays awake the whole drive and at least I don’t have to carry 25lbs of deadweight kid along with our bags. Especially that large bag of books. Who’s bright idea was it to start moving books aboard today? Oops, that would be mine. Owen grabs a cart, I load up, both kids get strapped into lifejackets, and Kinsley insists on helping pull the cart. Surprisingly, no one got wet and we reached Goblin. Supplies are unloaded, Kins get a cart ride back along the docks, cart is returned, and we cheerfully pile aboard.
It’s almost eight, Kinsley is vibrating and crashing into walls, Owen is alternating between reading and winding up his sister, and I’m climbing all over the v-berth trying to make some kind of bed for the littles to sleep in. Even before I pronounce the bed finished both kids are on it, negotiation for pillow and stuffed animal space, big smiles on their faces. Happy kids, not sleepy, just happy, and so I begin the nighttime routine.
Three stories for Kinsley, hugs and kisses, patting her back. No dice, this kid is curious and far too overtired for this sleeping nonsense. She rolls and kicks, sits up, bounces, rolls, demands tucking, more kicking, more tucking. Owen is an angel, curled up with his Kindle, quiet, trying to ignore the circus on the other side of the bed. I whisper, sing, and pat. Owen takes his book and leaves to read on my bed, I glare at my watch, Kinsley walks her feet along the ceiling, I tuck her in again.
One hour, two screaming fits, and more choruses of Portside Pirates than I want to think about, Kins falls asleep mumbling about seals. Owen reluctantly leaves my bed and joins Kinsley and, at long last, silence falls over the boat for nine glorious hours.