All good things must eventually end

We moved aboard the sailboat from the powerboat when the kiddo was three. He'd just recently started sleeping in his own bed, although most nights he'd still find his way back to our bed in the wee hours. He never required much personal space, he never knew what it was like to have his own room, a play room, a backyard. The ocean was his backyard, the sailboat his playroom. His room was the snug quarter berth, or nestled next to us in our bed. We didn't require much.

And then, as kids tend to do, he grew. And grew and grew and grew. His clothes got bigger and the little closet bar I'd rigged up for him in the quarter berth sagged beneath the weight of big kid clothes.  He started requiring things like privacy. He developed strong attachments to his stuff (future hoarder) and began noticing when things started disappearing after he'd gone to bed. The majority of our storage space on the boat was crammed with Legos and stuffed animals and space paraphernalia. Telescopes and lenses. Models of the solar system. Books. Where he once looked so small in his bed, now he stretched nearly the length of it.

Cramped quarter berth.

Plus, we still had Immortal Greyhound. She took up quite a bit of real estate. She'd spend her days on the kiddo's bed and at night we'd move her to a settee. She's cute but nasty. Always laying with her tongue out, depositing puddles of drool wherever she pleases. There was the issue of an incontinence problem developed somewhere around age 11. We had to have blankets under her at all times. At night we'd cover the settees with blankets and move her over. First thing in the morning we'd cover the quarter berth with blankets and move her over. Those blankets had to be washed all the time because she is disgusting. And by washed, I mean taken to the laundromat. Half our life savings was used for washing dog blankets.

Kiddo doesn't mind that she's disgusting.

But I'm cute!

Immortal Greyhound was also having difficulties getting on and off the boat. We had to use a ramp to get her out of the cabin, and then she had to leap off the boat, over the water, and onto the docks. Not a huge problem in nice weather, but we lived aboard year-round and things got icy, slick. No big deal for a strong water pup, like a lab, or a retriever, but Immortal Greyhound is nothing but skin and shaky bones. As coordinated as a drunk reindeer. She'd hobble up the ramp, grasp for footing on deck, somersault off the boat, land with legs splayed on the dock and then turn to give me an evil look.

We decided we'd had enough. It was no longer fun anymore. It had never been easy.

I'm incredibly glad my kid grew up with the experience of living aboard a boat, but let me tell you. It was never easy. On every sailing forum and a thousand personal blogs you'll find people encouraging families to live aboard a boat. It'll be fun, they say. Your kids will love every second, they say. You will become closer as a family, they say. What they don't say: When you're out on a sail and shit starts getting a little tricky, the kid will start screaming because he needs a snack, or his DVD player quit working, or he needs to use the bathroom. What they don't say: When your kid gets sick, like stomach sick, you won't have your own personal washing machine to aid you in clean up. Might as well just throw the bedding away, because only an asshole would wash vomit bedding in a public washer. What they don't say: Your kid will get hurt. Boats are hazards. They will bump their heads, their knees, their shins, their elbows. They will look like victims of child abuse. Boats will beat the shit out of them. You will have nightmares about your kid falling over and drowning. You will have boat fire nightmares, sinking nightmares. Your kid will be exposed to all sorts of fumes- gas fumes, diesel fumes, paint/varnish/epoxy fumes, exhaust fumes. Your boat will be a petri dish of mold and mildew, no matter how well you scrub and clean and ventilate. Cleaning the boat and ridding it of all these toxins will become your full time job.

It. Is. Not. Easy. Most of the time it isn't even fun. It's work. It's worry. It's frustrating.

Would I do it all over again? You bet.

To be fair, I'm willing to bet some live aboard families have an easier time of it. Boston is kind of a stupid place to live aboard a boat year-round. San Diego might be nice. Also, because of the nature of Jon's job, I fly solo quite a bit. It was often just me and kiddo and Immortal Greyhound and one very, very needy boat. Sure, sometimes Jon would get ten day stretches of time off, but those days were invariably used to play catch-up, to spend time together as a family, and to run the billion errands I refused to do by myself. I was the boat's primary maintenance person simply because I was always there. Not that I'm complaining. I love that stuff. It was just a lot on my plate. Did I mention we homeschool? I don't get many breaks. I'm on 24 hours a day with the kid. I was on 24 hours a day with the boat.

The time had come when the negatives really began to outweigh the positives and we decided to call it quits. We were ready for some of life's niceties. As my husband would say, "I'm tired of suiting up in the morning to go take a crap." Because you don't do that on the boat. You do it at the marina's bathroom. You shower at the marina's bathroom. You will forget your towel, your soap. There will come a morning when you'll be greeted by somebody else's bloody booger on the shower curtain. You'll go days without showering just because it's a hassle. Add a little kid to the mix and it quadruples that hassle. There's the laundry issue. If I never again have to step foot inside a laundromat for the rest of my life, I will die a happy, happy person.

We wanted closets. Clothes that didn't smell like mildew. A garage. A workbench. A king-sized bed. A dishwasher. A yard to let the dog out. A huge furnace. A huge air conditioner.

We admitted defeat and kicked out the tenants who'd been occupying our house. We said goodbye to our beloved boat. We closed the chapter and began a new one.