That’s me, sitting behind the wheel of Baby Blue—my 1986 Malibu Skier that I snagged during the peak of COVID while everyone else was panic-buying Lysol wipes. Not me. I saw the chaos and thought, “Time to finally buy that vintage boat.” And let me tell you, I have zero regrets.

She’s decked out in the same shades of blue as my dad’s Malibu dealership, Performance Watersports—nostalgia on water. Every time I take her out, it’s like driving a piece of my childhood across the lake.

Independent? Damn Right.

I take Baby Blue to the lake all on my own. Hitch her up, back her down the ramp, launch her, dock her—solo. No “supervisors,” no helping hands, no pity stares welcome. Just Captain Crippled doing her thing, like it’s second nature.

And when I’m not piloting Baby Blue, I’m having the time of my life demoing the newest Malibu and Axis boats. Those slick new rides with touchscreen dashes and all the bells and whistles? Yeah, I get to play with those for work. They’re incredible, and I love them—but nothing quite matches the feeling of throttling up an old-school beauty like Baby Blue.

That Time I Forgot the Plugs…

Let me paint you a picture. It’s a sunny day. I’m out on the lake with both of my kids, feeling unstoppable. Baby Blue is slicing through the water like she was born for it. Then, mid-ride, my son casually says, “Mom… why is the carpet soaking wet?”

Without missing a beat, my daughter backs him up, “Yeah, it’s like REALLY wet.”

And that’s when it hit me—I forgot the plugs.

Calm, Cool, and Slightly Soaked

Did I panic? Nope. Captain Crippled doesn’t panic. I calmly pinned Baby Blue down, got her on plane to stop the water from pouring in like a horror movie, and nonchalantly cruised back to the dock like this was just another Tuesday.

And then? I stuck the perfect landing onto the trailer. Dead center. Smooth as butter. If anyone on the dock was watching, they probably thought I was starring in a Malibu ad—minus the wet carpet sloshing beneath my feet.

Plug Patrol: The New Family Tradition

Since that infamous day when I accidentally turned Baby Blue into a floating kiddie pool, my kids have taken on a new role—“Plug Patrol.” No launch happens now without them circling the boat like tiny, sarcastic safety inspectors.

Before we even hit the ramp:

“Plugs in, Mom?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“YES.”

They never miss an opportunity to remind me of the incident. Honestly, at this point, it’s practically part of our lake day routine—trailer, checklist, sarcastic plug interrogation.

And while they’re busy making sure history doesn’t repeat itself, I can’t help but smile. These are the moments that make lake life ours—slightly chaotic, a little salty, but always full of grit (and a few laughs at Mom’s expense).

Baby Blue: My Ride-or-Die

Look, Baby Blue isn’t the flashiest boat at the lake. She doesn’t care about keeping up with the shiny new Axis or Malibu models I demo for work—the ones with tech so advanced I half expect them to make me a coffee while adjusting the wake settings.

But Baby Blue? She’s got something those new boats can’t fake: character. She’s all muscle, no frills. The throttle sticks sometimes, the steering takes a little grit, and she hums like an old-school rock anthem when you open her up across the water. She’s not here to pamper me—she’s here to remind me that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

When I’m behind Baby Blue’s wheel, it’s just me, the water, and a boat that asks, “Are you ready to work for this?” And the answer’s always hell yes.

Captain Crippled, Signing Off

So yeah, I mess up sometimes. But even when I do, I still handle it like a pro—soaked carpet, forgotten plugs, or not. Baby Blue and I have built a partnership out of stubbornness and grit, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ll take old-school muscle and a bit of chaos over flawless automation any day. Because when it comes down to it? I’m not out here just to cruise—I’m out here to live.

Captain Crippled, Baby Blue, and my plug-checking crew—we’ll see you on the water.

—Steph