Raising Hurricanes: Chaos, Candy & Community on Island Time

One thing about living on Ambergris Caye with four kids? Everyone knows us. Not in a “we’re famous” way — more like a “here comes the hurricane” way.

A lady once said that to me with a big laugh: “They’re like a hurricane!” And honestly… she wasn’t wrong.

My kids don’t walk into places quietly — they arrive. They sweep in like a storm: loud, curious, barefoot, hungry, chatty, sticky, and completely themselves.

And the best part? The island doesn’t judge them. The island gets them. The island laughs with us, not at us.

The Marshmallow Incident (AKA: Just Another Tuesday)

One day we were at the store and the kids decided — without waiting — to rip open the candy at the till. Before I could even react, they were yelling at me to open a bag of marshmallows.

So I did. Because sometimes you pick your battles… and sometimes you don’t have the energy to pick any at all.

They plopped right down on the floor of the store — all of them — and happily ate marshmallows like it was a picnic spot.

And then Lilyanna, with the confidence of a child who has never paid a bill, announced loudly:

“Mom, I think you should have more kids!”

Everyone in the store burst out laughing. Meanwhile, half the island has told me I have enough children. More than enough. Maybe too many.

Good Days, Bad Days… and All the Laughs in Between

My kids have good days and bad days — just like adults. But most adults don’t handle pressure as well as a 4-year-old going through a candy-craving meltdown.

My children are wild, spirited, emotional, loving, messy, curious, unpredictable — and very, very alive. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade that for kids who sit quietly and never test limits.

Their wildness teaches me patience. Their chaos teaches me flexibility. Their joy teaches me how to find magic in the smallest moments.

An Island That Knows Us — and Loves Us Anyway

One thing I adore about raising kids here is the sense of community. People know us from our walks, our golf cart rides, our preschool pickups, our daily juice-box stop at Super 7.

Strangers wave. Neighbors smile. People laugh with us instead of offering judgmental stares. On this island, it’s normal for a child to sit on the floor of a store and eat marshmallows.

It’s normal for a pack of siblings to burst into a shop like a carnival troop.

It’s normal for motherhood to be a little messy.

Island life doesn’t demand perfection —it embraces the chaos.

It celebrates the kids with big energy.

It gives us room to breathe, to laugh, and to feel supported.

Raising Hurricanes Is a Gift

Someday, my house will be quiet. Someday, nobody will be yelling about candy or bursting through doors like a Category 5, I won’t have tiny sticky hands pulling me in all directions.

But today? Today I have these little hurricanes. Making strangers laugh.

Breaking open candy. Suggesting I have more kids. Living loudly and freely. And I’m grateful for every wild minute. Because raising them on this island — with this community — makes the chaos feel like magic.