The day after Christmas we went away for two weeks to the Bahamas.

Our neighbors have a house and a boat there, and our families always have fun together – the dads love to fish, the moms love to laugh, the kids love to play Among Us. Plus, 80% of both of our families have ADHD and the requisite understanding that brings makes us good travel partners. They have been asking us to go for years, but the twins always made it seem impossible.

But one day in early November, we got an email from the schools that they would all be remote until January 18^th, and they texted they were going to their island and did we want to come? We talked it over at dinner and decided let’s go!, a declaration that even now, nearly two months later, I can remember like a giant exhale. When would we ever have this chance again?

We carefully thought through our decision. All of my doctor friends thought going to a house on an island with very few cases wasn’t crazy, though one suggested we Med-flight home if anyone became sick, so we got insurance. (May we all be delivered from the desire to judge people who are taking the pandemic less seriously and more seriously than we are.)

As most families with young children will tell you, life during a pandemic isn’t that different than normal life. Going anywhere with two babies is hard. During the past three years we rarely ate out or took the kids to a store. We chose activities carefully, knowing that being in our own space was the easiest place to be between napping and baby proofing.

Having our own house on a remote island with our neighbors nearby seemed low risk and doable. It was, as you would expect, both hard and magical.

The list of things that made the Bahamas hard includes: sand fleas, sensory issues that can’t tolerate small amounts of sand and water (it has to be all or nothing), a few children routinely waking up before 6am, a flat tire for three days, the food stores being closed for three days, lots of power outages, and restaurants. To be fair that last one is hard at home too. 

But the list of things that is magical in the Bahamas includes the sunrises, which I wouldn’t see without those earlier risers, the sunsets, the fun in the water and the sand (once we are fully immersed), the snuggles, the little tan toddler legs running through the house, their sheer delight at creature comforts like cold apple juice or pizza or fresh jammies after a bath. A spotty Wifi is both as hard and wonderful as you can imagine. There was bonding with teens and toddlers who couldn’t understand why their show kept stopping.

The highlight for everyone was our friend’s boat, where the guys went deep sea fishing and caught massive fish. We went scuba diving in aqua blue water and sat on the deck drinking rum punch and watching flying fish. The memories made here were so worth the travel to get there.

The Bahamas is like a massage for all your senses. The bright pink bougainvillea draped around the yard, the birds’ melodic notes floating through air that is the perfect temperature all the time. Seriously, they don’t even have windows just slits on the doors that let the ocean breeze drift gently in all the time. The air makes you dreams extra vivid. The turquoise water and pink sand, the sea dotted with the gentle white-capped roll of waves, the ink-black night with the electric white glow of the full moon and the stars. The courtyard lined with conch shells like glossy pink and white kisses greeting you. 

But the real fire-works show, the real magic, is the people. Their houses line the streets in every shade of sherbet, mirroring their bright and colorful spirit. They showered our kids with affection and good cheer at every turn. The gas station owner – a grandfather to twenty-five – blew kisses to the twins and said “love you!” as we pulled away. The gentlemen selling melon and tomatoes at the market who adopted the twins the second they got out of the car, with high-fives, affectionate banter, and a gentle tsk-tsking when they ran away from me – you have to stay by your momma! – and even helped me to get them back into the car. The guitar player on New Year’s Eve brought Ronan right up to have a turn strumming.

Our friends have a couple that help them care for their house and they showed up on New Year’s with a turkey dinner, conch fritters, and a salad still warm from their garden. Spending time with them has been the best reminder of what matters most back at home. Their lives are built around their beautiful churches overlooking the ocean, their families, gardens, and kitchens tables. On Sundays everyone is together, dancing to a boom box or a guitar, and everyone waves at you when you drive by. 

The air made you crave well-being and I got to move and breath and soak up vitamin D. We all went to sleep at 9, since there is no Wifi then, and had the sleep of angels. If I need a reminder to not stay up late watching TV when I get home, I will remember these two weeks.  We ate a ton of fresh caught fish, and local produce sold from the back of cars.

We had a long day of travel home, involving the smallest airplane I’d ever seen, and a three year old who had decided he was very over traveling halfway through the day. We were ridiculously tired but as we turned onto our familiar street, I felt so grateful. Walking through our door, our house felt so comfortable – our sink, the cat, the creak on the stairs. Everyone was sighing with happiness as they slid pizza slices out of a box from our favorite place. It almost makes you think that maybe the best thing about going away is remembering how great it is to be home.