What happens when a Midwestern land-lubber and her daughters take their maiden voyage with a life-long sailor and his son? The best vacation of their lives!

Of course, it could have been a disaster. All of us cooped up on a 47-foot sailboat in the middle of Caribbean for eight days: no TV, no TiVo, very spotty Internet and cell phone service. We'd taken trips together before, but nothing more than a weekend, and always with a full assortment of techno toys to keep the kids occupied. I also worried about seasickness, squabbling, whining and boredom.

Plus there was the issue of different parenting styles: he, more indulgent with just one; me, with three, decidedly less so. And J was four years younger than my youngest and delighted in playing the annoying little brother my girls never had. Oh, this could be really, really bad.

Or really, really great.

I needn't have worried. The kids delighted in their quarters, as cozy as they were, especially the escape hatches in the ceilings that they popped up and down through like prairie dogs the entire trip. We'd occasionally hear some bickering among them, then J shrieking that the girls "are killing me....hee  hee hee!"  At which point, they would dive in the water, swim to shore, build sand castles and then swim back to the boat.

Every day, a different cove or marina to explore. Every day more beautiful than the one before. And every day at 5 o clock, an elaborate cocktail hour. How veddy veddy civilized. The crew would prepare two pitchers of fancy tropical drinks, potent for us, a virgin version for the kids, and delicious complicated hors d'oeuvres. "Oh, Mommy," my youngest asked. "Can we start doing this every night back home?" Ah, she is so to the manner born.  And I am so not.