Now, Ollie—our own resident cuddle giver and loyal travel companion—wasn’t quite sure what to think. His eyes got as narrow and a far away look in his eyes clearly stating, “You seriously don’t expect me to do this..” look.

But AJ? He was in absolute heaven. From the moment we set up camp, he was surrounded by wagging tails and wet nose kisses from furry friends representing nearly every corner of the country. His laughter (and occasional squeals of delight) were the soundtrack of our days, as he met new four-legged buddies who seemed to instantly “get” him.

And here’s the kicker—our RV campsite wasn’t just near the show. It was strategically positioned smack-dab between two of the most fascinating groups of dogs and their humans. On one side? Four majestic Rottweilers, otherwise known as “Good Dog Carl” dogs. (Read Alexandra Day’s classic children’s book about the babysitting Rottweiler named Carl.) These gentle giants were as regal as they come, with the kind of soulful eyes that make you wonder, could they babysit.

On the other side of us? Five Scottish Deerhounds. Imagine a wiry-haired greyhound on steroids—elegant, towering, and just a little intimidating until you realize they’re actually just oversized couch potatoes in disguise. Their humans became instant friends. The kind of “your people” friends you don’t have to try with—you just click. Maybe it was the shared experience of parenting, being fellow Aggie Alumni, or the way they leaned into life’s curveballs with grace and humor, but sitting around the campsite together felt like we’d known them forever. Rooting for their dogs in the ring was pure joy, and cheering when they won was a victory for all of us.

And oh, the cast of canine characters we met along the way! Fizz, the stately Great Dane who walked like royalty. Tank, whose name fit him perfectly. Izzy, James, Zeppelin, Elvis, Navy, Hermione, and Lucy—each with their own quirks and personalities. AJ had a blast keeping track of names, while Ollie gave us his best “please tell me we’re not bringing home a sibling” sigh of relief every evening, intensely investigating the scents of potential affection betrayal.

We connected with people, too—deeply. Around the campfire, stories flowed about parenting challenges, victories both big and small, and the beautiful, messy ways life brings people together. These conversations were the real gift of the week. We weren’t just spectators at a dog show; we were participants in a community bound by love, loyalty, and a whole lot of fur.

So, are we destined for AKC Juniors? Probably not. (Cue Ollie’s audible sigh of relief.) But this week was nothing short of magical. Covered in puppy kisses, surrounded by new friends, and laughing at the antics of dogs big and small, we were reminded once again why we’re doing this. The road has surprises around every bend, and this one was wrapped up in paws, wagging tails, and friendships we’ll carry long after the RV rolls on.

For those keeping score: still stowaway free. No goats. No baby alpacas. No horses. And despite the temptation, no Great Danes, Carl Dogs, or Scottish Deerhounds... yet.

To the friends who opened their hearts and invited us to visit in South Carolina and Atlanta—you know who you are. We can’t wait to take you up on it. Until then, we’ll keep wandering, collecting stories, and raising our hands in our little family tradition:

1, 2, 3... GO ADVENTURERS!

We are entering uncharted waters in the ‘What’s Next?’ chapter. We are still congratulating the oldest Big jettisoning his new family into full-on adulting life. We recently dropped our oldest girl Big at school for what has the promise of ‘her best year yet’, full of friends with deep ties after journeying to the far ends of the Earth together. And our ‘Team Adventurers’ is ready to finally set sail for new destinations with our youngest ‘Ferdinand’ (google it - children’s book reference about a young bull).

Now that everyone is set on their current life trajectory, where are we headed? What are we searching for? Where will we land? Will there be tacos? (seriously - authentic tacos, the struggle is real.) Who knows, but what I do know is the first waypoint we’re racing to.. REST.

If you’ve been following us, we’ve been in a big hurry to slow down. Not too slow of course, that’s not ever going to happen with AJ, but a slower pace able to smell the flowers (or the Sweetbay Magnolia trees) and soak in cooler temperatures and rest. It sounds crazy if you don’t hail from the face of the sun, but to sit outside in 70 degrees and relax in the refreshing breeze is.. well refreshing. Recharging. Almost soul-level reviving.

After the long and drawn-out initial chapter of this journey, it feels like we’ve reached a milestone. We are actually relaxing, playing basketball, and enjoying life as a family. And making new laundromat friends of course, as we tend to draw a crowd playing No Mercy Uno (avoid if you’re overly competitive and see red at a Draw 22).

But friends aren’t only made where static cling rules supreme. Oh no, we’ve made some very special friends along the way, like Legend (the equine law officer) and his human, Officer Smith. It’s not everyday our Ferdinand comes eye-to-eye with the trusty steed, Legend.

Another sneak peek in our daily lives, we borrowed a tradition from some fun full-time globetrotters. When they cross a state line they repeat the current state they are in and build with excitement until they roar into the new state as they cross the invisible state border as if they broke the sound barrier. It goes like this, “Texas, Texas, TEXAS, OKLAHOMA!”

We too love this tradition. And as you can imagine, when we were visiting our Bigs for two weeks, but staying just across a state line, we practice this at least twice a day.. every day.. for two weeks! Whoo-hoo! That’s right baby! Perseverating on traditions never gets old in this caravan. Seriously, it has a way of snapping you out of your thoughts, moods, or whatever and forces you to have fun, enjoy the moment, and remember – we’re on an adventure and fun is serious business not to be missed.

What’s next? Soaking it all in and building memories. What kind of memories you ask? Harvest memories of course! (More to come on that in the next update.)

And for those keeping score – no goat, no baby alpaca, and no horse (..yet).

Stay safe and all hands in on three.
1, 2, 3.. GO ADVENTURES!

Our oldest boy—yes, our little barefoot, bug-collecting, sword-wielding backyard warrior—stood with confidence, eyes locked on his bride, and promised to love, honor, and cherish her all the days of his life. And just like that, the baton has been passed. Another family launched into the great wide somewhere.

Let us be the first to say it loud and proud: Mission Accomplished!

We now return to our previously scheduled programming of RV life, vagabonding, and trying to remember what day it is. But for a weekend (okay, let’s be honest, for several months), all roads pointed to this celebration, and we couldn’t be more honored to have witnessed it.

“YES!”

The moment that will forever be seared into our memory came just seconds after the "I do's" echoed across the church. Our youngest, AJ, watching his big brother with eyes wide and heart bursting, shouted in celebration, "YES!"

A child’s spontaneous joy captured what all our adult composure was trying (and failing) to contain. It wasn’t just a wedding. It was an affirmation of everything we’ve hoped and prayed for: a foundation laid on faith, a relationship rooted in respect, and a future being built hand-in-hand with Jesus.

In that moment, we shouted "YES!" too - if not out loud, definitely in spirit. YES to covenant. YES to sacrificial love. YES to legacy. YES to watching our kids build something beautiful and eternal in a world that's often too quick to settle for temporary.

Family, Friends & Forever

This weekend wasn’t just about rings and cake (though, side note: the cake was incredible). It was about family - the kind you’re born into, and the kind you gather along the way. It was about friendship - the soul-level kind that shows up early, stays late, and sweats through setup & tear down because they love you that much.

The bride and groom surrounded themselves with people who love Jesus and love them. The intentionality in their wedding party alone was something to marvel at. There’s a kind of power in young people choosing friends who sharpen them, encourage them, and speak truth over them. Watching this group rally together to honor God and celebrate their friends? That’s the kind of holy chaos we hope continues into every chapter of their lives.

We saw young men praying over each other. We saw laughter that only comes from years of deep friendship. We saw women wiping tears as they spoke blessing over the bride. And we saw parents (hello, that’s us!) standing back in awe of what God is doing in and through our children.

When Two Become One

The ceremony wasn’t long, but it was full of power. The gospel was shared. The Lord was glorified. And two hearts, long knit together by prayer, purpose, and commitment (as all great romances begin), became one.

Their vows weren’t just recited - they were lived even in the days leading up to the altar. Service. Sacrifice. Kindness. Respect. These weren’t just wedding-day promises; they were already daily practices.

Sure, we know life won’t be all sunshine and roses (though, let's be real, there was plenty of sunshine that day—thank you, August Tennessee heat—and a fair amount of roses too). But as we reminded them, even roses come with thorns, and even thorns can be beautiful reminders of the cost and the protection found in love. Especially when that love is covered by the One who wore the crown of thorns first.

The Sacred Ordinary

There's something sacred about watching your child start a new journey. It's a blend of grief and glory, of memory and momentum.

Grief because it feels like just yesterday we were helping him into car seats and wiping peanut butter off his face. (And sometimes the wall. And the dog.)

Glory because this—this becoming, this launching—is the goal. We raise them to release them. And watching him walk into his calling as a husband, watching her walk beside him as his helpmate and best friend? That’s the win. That’s the whole point.

So while the ceremony was one moment, the significance is lifelong. They’ve stepped into the sacred ordinary: grocery runs, budgeting, figuring out how many socks one person can lose in a week. And they’ll do it all while learning what it means to wash each other’s feet—figuratively and, let’s be honest, occasionally literally—because real love is found in the trenches of service and the rhythms of everyday life.

The Aftermath

We’re not crying, you’re crying. Actually, we weren’t sure what was sweat, tears, or both. And laughing. We stood there surrounded by family and friends, hearts full and knees slightly buckled. What a gift. What a season. What a ride. And now we celebrate with a nap & a map.

So What Now?

Well, we hit the road again. The mothership is rumbling, and the adventure continues.

We leave with full hearts and one less kid in the caravan (so to speak), but one more family added to our fold. We’ve officially entered a new season-parents of a married child-and all the laughter, love, and prayer that comes with it.

To the new couple, we say: We love you. We are proud of you. We are with you. Always.

To our readers and fellow wanderers: Thanks for following this journey with us. Keep your eyes open for new blog entries as we keep traveling, exploring, and learning what it means to live freely, love fiercely, and glorify God in the ordinary and the wild.

And to anyone wondering what comes after "Mission Accomplished"?

A new mission, of course. Let’s go.

Go Adventures!

Let’s rewind for a second.

Back when our oldest was a squirmy three-year-old—equal parts imagination and motion blur—we packed up our then-growing family (including a newborn!) and trekked to a mountain in Arkansas. Why? To witness the epic migration of butterflies. Yes, butterflies. Because obviously, that’s what grabs a toddler’s attention for more than 30 seconds, right?

Knowing we needed a strategy to stretch those attention spans, we may or may not have “planted” giant plastic crystals along the trail. Sparkly, colorful distractions hidden like treasures waiting to be discovered. And let me tell you—it worked. He was hooked. Who cared about butterflies? There were crystals! That hike became family legend.

Fast forward to the present—our Mothership cruising steady—we found ourselves chasing a new kind of magic. For years we’d heard whispers of a nearby destination but had never made the detour. This time, we did. And we were blown away.

Where is this enchanted land? Broken Bow, Oklahoma.

Yep. You heard us right. Specifically: Beavers Bend State Park. We only stayed one night on our journey East, but we’re already plotting a return. Mountains, rivers, forest... and something else.

Bigfoot Or maybe a hillbilly Yeti. Either way, we got a blurry photo as proof. (Skeptics beware.)

And if cryptids aren’t your thing? They’ve got horseback trail rides, kayaking, tubing, fly-fishing, a forest train, and a place called Yahoo Hill—but we won’t spoil that surprise. You’ll have to go find out yourself.

Bonus? Trick parking spots for giant rigs like the Mothership. We snagged one with a high score—and even impressed our neighbor Buddy and his wife Danielle from Rockwall, Texas. That’s one of the unexpected joys of this nomadic life: meeting people with big hearts, hilarious stories, and hometowns we might just roll through one day.

So yes, no alpacas this stop. But Broken Bow? A crystal-clear gem tucked in the trees.

The real takeaway?
Keep your eyes open. Pull off the road. Wander into the woods. You might find something beautiful—or just a really solid average that feels like exactly what your soul needed.

Oh—and before we hit the road again, our youngest insists on a ritual. We all gather, hands in, huddle up, and on the count of three:
“GO ADVENTURES!”
It’s our thing. You should try it. Or better yet, make up your own.

What hidden gems have you uncovered? What’s your favorite adventure memory?

Until next time—stay curious, stay kind, and safe travels, friends.
-To Infinity & Yonder

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It’s official—we’re out. Out of the house, out of the driveway, out of the neighborhood, and, most importantly, out of the heat (well, not exactly). The Mothership has left the launch pad. Destination: our oldest son’s wedding next month. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves—we’re meandering our way there like a couple of seasoned pros with nowhere to be and everywhere to explore. No itinerary, no alarms, and absolutely no regrets (yet).

So, where did the winds of adventure first toss us?

Alpacas!

Yep. Not the beach, not the mountains. Alpacas.. dozens of them. Possibly hundreds.. (okay, maybe not hundreds, more like a solid ten). Time loses meaning when you're surrounded by lanky-legged fluff muffins who look at you like you might be holding snacks—or deep emotional truths. (Spoiler: it’s always snacks.)

These gentle, humming, four-stomached wonders greeted us with more curiosity than we deserved. One moment you’re living a relatively normal life, the next you’re googling “Can alpacas ride in RVs?” and “Do alpacas like jazz?” They don’t swim (we asked), but they were happy to loiter nearby while we floated in the pool with our most special friends, hiding from the brutal Texas sun that chased us out of our zip code in the first place.

The pool, by the way, wasn’t just a luxury—it was a lifeline. We’re talking 100° pavement-melting, hat-sweat-soaking, why-do-we-live-here heat. But submerged in water, surrounded by alpacas and the slow pace of somewhere-else, we started to remember what this whole thing is about: pausing, breathing, wandering.

Now, in case anyone’s wondering—no, we did not acquire a baby alpaca.

Let me say that again louder for the people in the back who remember the goat incident of early summer: We. Did. Not. Adopt. A. Baby. Alpaca. Could I see one in our someday? Oh absolutely. I can already picture the arguments over whose lap it gets to ride in.

With our first stop behind us (and the RV only mildly covered in alpaca fuzz), we’re pointing our noses toward Oklahoma—land of red dirt, wind-swept plains, and possibly trout? We’ve been promised trout. We're suspicious.

So what’s next?

We have no idea. But we’re rolling with it. The Mothership’s tires are officially dirty, the fridge is full of snacks, and the playlist is on shuffle. Whether it’s another unexpected detour, a record-breaking heatwave, or a deeply average fishing trip, we’re just happy to be on the road—with each other, and with absolutely zero baby alpacas in tow.

For now.

More soon, from somewhere yonder. ✌️

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Well, it’s official. Actually official. Like, we just waved goodbye to our sleepy hometown and realized halfway through a bag of trail mix that this isn’t a vacation. This is our life now.

We. Are. Doing. This.

It’s wild to say that, even now, because the idea of becoming full-time road dwellers felt so dreamy for so long, it almost became background noise. We sold the house back in April. Gave away the fridge, the washer, the dryer, the trampoline (you’re welcome, neighborhood kids). Lawn mower? Gone. That weird piece of furniture from an adopted Aunt that nobody could ever identify but felt too guilty to toss? Hasta la vista. We sold, donated, or recycled 25 years of “maybe we’ll need this someday” like we were Marie Kondo on espresso.

But somehow, even after all that, it didn’t fully hit us until the moment we physically pulled away. Watching our rearview mirror fill with the last familiar stoplight and the coffee shop we kept forgetting was closed on Mondays… that was the moment it sank in.

We aren’t just dabbling in RV life. This isn’t a weekend escape. This is it. We are fully committed. We are officially full-time vagabonds with a GPS, a service dog named Ollie (who honestly thinks this is all for him), and a loosely defined route known as “anywhere but here.”

And let’s talk about Ollie for a second. That dog strutted into the passenger seat like he’s been waiting for this his whole life. With his service vest, his smirk, and his emotional support eyes, he’s ready to lead this crew like a fluffy four-legged tour guide with boundary issues.

Now, don’t get us wrong. We’re excited. We’re grateful. We’re 78% sure this isn’t a fever dream. But also… WHAT WERE WE THINKING?

We have responsibilities. Adult children in transition. A kid with a unique set of needs and a heart for discovery. Medical appointments, random job things, and the occasional “wait, do we need Wi-Fi for this?” moment. We are roadies with an itinerary made of dreams… and a long list of fine print that includes everything from refilling prescriptions to figuring out why our water pump sounds like a dying walrus.

But here’s the thing: we knew this wasn’t going to be all national parks and campfire singalongs. We knew there’d be delays, detours, and days we’d question everything. That’s kind of the point. We’re not doing this because it’s easy—we’re doing this because it’s worth it.

So there it is. Our not-so-smooth launch into the great unknown. It's messy, it's real, and it’s more beautiful than we could’ve planned.

Off we go. Hearts full, fridge half-stocked, dreams on wheels.

We’re in it now.

Forever roadbound (until we need a Costco run),
—The Yonder-ers

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Well, we were supposed to be somewhere in Colorado by now… or maybe wandering a forested trail in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Or perhaps arguing over which gas station has cleaner bathrooms, Buc-ees or anyone else. Instead, here we are—still here. Still packing. Still stalling. But in the best possible way.

Life, as it turns out, has a wonderful sense of humor.

First up in the 'Delay Parade' was Ollie. Our sweet, ever-faithful, ever-sniffing sidekick needed a minor surgery. Nothing serious, but enough to remind us that launching a new life on the road should definitely not begin with a cone of shame and an embarrassed dog trying to wedge himself under the dinette. He’s healing like a champ though, and we’re pretty sure the vet gave him extra treats for bravery (and for not eating the office fern).

Then came the Fourth of July. What was meant to be a quick “we’ll catch the parade and go” turned into an all-out hometown bonanza. There were parades and floats and more red-white-and-blue plastic beads than any one town should own. There were sticky-faced children, fireworks and enough cotton candy to put us all into a brief but enthusiastic sugar coma.

But the real kicker—the event that truly earned this delay its gold medal—was an engagement party for two incredible kids just starting out on their grand adventure. Watching our oldest and his sweet, soon-to-be bride beam under strings of backyard lights, surrounded by the familiar faces of our launchpad community, reminded us: beginnings come in all shapes. Some happen with a map in your hand. Others, with a ring on your finger.

To the friends who hosted, cooked, decorated, cheered, and let us steal hugs between trips to the cooler—you are the real MVPs. Seriously. You could plan the Olympics and still have time to make it all feel like home.

So, yes. We’re perpetually behind schedule, even when there truly is no schedule. Our “drive into the sunset” moment has been more “nap in the lawn chair.” But sometimes, a little delay is just the universe giving you a better send-off.

That said… the laundry’s finally done (well, mostly), Ollie’s cleared for travel (minus one slightly shaved patch), and the goodbyes have been cried through (again and again and again). The RV is humming, the fridge is humming louder, and we’re pointing ourselves toward cooler air, open roads, curious people, and—dare we say—new laundromats. (If you know, you know.)

So here it is: our actual departure. Chapter Two. Page One. Rolling out with hearts full of gratitude, a trunk full of road-trip snacks, and just enough gas to make it to the next Buc-ees.

Pray for us. And if you see a slightly confused couple, an enthusiastic and mischievous service dog, and a boy peering wide-eyed out the window at the world - honk, wave, or say hi.

Adventure awaits. Finally. 💫

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When we sold our house, our furniture, and that collection of mismatched Tupperware that had somehow survived every garage purge since 1999, we thought we were doing the big brave thing: hitting the road. One truck and 5th wheel trailer (affectionately called The Mothership), our autistic son, one overachieving service dog named Ollie, and two mid-life dreamers setting out to find adventure beyond the beige walls of suburbia.

Spoiler alert: we haven’t gotten far.. yet.

Not for lack of trying. We had the maps, the meticulously packed storage units, and a Pinterest board full of “nomad life hacks” we were 30% confident we could actually use. But as it turns out, life doesn’t care about your Google Maps route. Life laughs—politely, of course—and hands you a wedding invitation, a doctor’s referral, a funeral service, and a text from your daughter in East Asia saying, “Hey, I think I might’ve adopted a goat.”

So here we are. Between the rapidly-booming small town and our hometown we planned to wave goodbye to (for now). We did sell the house and move into the Mothership, but it’s not under the star-filled skies we’re chasing. We’re still here but getting to spend more consecutive time around our family than we have in years, like twenty.

But let me tell you something: being “here” isn’t a consolation prize. It’s just a reminder that before you can chase the horizon, you need to be there for all the people that have been there for you for years.

Our oldest son is getting married—yes, the same kid who once duct-taped Pop-Tarts to the ceiling. Watching them plan a future has been its own kind of journey. One that doesn’t involve campgrounds, but does involve a lot of love, deep breaths, and an Excel spreadsheet that could easily run a small government.

Meanwhile, our oldest daughter is on short-term mission trip abroad, where she is wrestling with purpose, culture shock, and short elderly lady that might have been a luchador-type (we’re still getting the full story). We expect she will return sun-kissed, sleep-deprived, borderline self-starved and likely surprisingly calm. And as much as I wanted to pick up and go, I knew I needed to be here, standing at that airport gate, arms wide open.

In between all of this? Doctor’s appointments. Family obligations. Saying goodbye to people we love. Saying hello to people we didn’t expect to meet (including, yes, a goat—long story).

The road is still calling, but it’s more of a gentle hum than a blaring train horn. The dream isn’t dead—it’s just waiting in the wings while we finish cheering on our older Bigs as they take their next life-leaps. We can’t very well gallivant across the country preaching “live fully!” if we don’t show up for our own people doing just that.

So, for now, The Mothership waits. Ollie still has his hiking boots. AJ is still excited for what’s ahead. And Dan and I? We’re learning that sometimes the real adventure isn’t in leaving it all behind – it’s in showing up, again and again, for the people you love.

We’ll hit the road. Eventually. Probably after the honeymoon. And the next doctor visit. And the goat thing. Stay tuned.

There was a moment not too long ago when I looked around our suburban home—complete with our meticulously organized garage (yeah right), a mortgage, and toaster oven I’m pretty sure we hadn’t used in years—and thought, “Is this really it?” We spent the last year and half remodeling the house we raised our older kids (aka the Bigs). Literally from floor to ceiling, and everything in between inside and out. There wasn’t a square inch we didn’t remodel, rebuild, or replace. The house was/is lovely, the neighborhood quiet (or it used to be), and the life we’d built was.. well, isolated. But also our once-sleepy town was not so sleepy anymore and with every shiny new condo that popped up, something inside us itched for more. Not more stuff—more life.

So, my husband Dan and I did something big. Big enough that our friends blinked at us like we’d announced we were moving to Mars. We sold everything. The house, the furniture, even the treadmill that mostly held laundry. All of it. We traded it all for one wild, beautiful unknown: life on the road.

Our “why” was simple: AJ.

Our young, vibrant autistic son, full of brilliance, curiosity, and wired to experience the world differently. Traditional routines aren’t engaging and we are on a journey to help him explore more of what’s outside. We wanted to give him the world, literally. Not in a metaphorical “you can be anything” kind of way—but in a real, tangible, here’s-the-Grand-Canyon-let’s-talk-about-erosion kind of way. We wanted him to see, hear, feel, and live the unexpected. And we wanted to do it together.

Enter: The Mothership. That’s what we call our 5^th wheel RV. We’ve been married 25 years and repeatedly said, we’re better in the foxhole and this one is cozy, slightly cramped, and occasionally smells like wet dog (more on that in a second), but it’s ours. Our tiny, rolling home, packed with essentials and an unreasonable number of charging cables.

And then there’s Ollie. Our Labradoodle, service dog, emotional compass, and professional attention-stealer. He’s the kind of dog who makes eye contact with strangers like he’s inviting them to brunch. But when it comes to AJ, Ollie is all focus. He helps AJ navigate the sensory chaos of the world and keeps him grounded when things get overwhelming. Honestly, I don’t know who depends on him more—AJ or me.

Since hitting the road, life has become beautifully unpredictable. One day, we’re could be exploring the Smoky Mountains. The next, we’re talking to a retired science teacher in a laundromat in New Mexico who turns out to be AJ’s newest favorite person. We’ve traded routines for rhythm, and possessions for presence. The world has become our classroom, and every mile has brought us closer to the kind of connection we didn’t know we were missing.

Is it always easy? Absolutely not. We’ve had our share of blown-out tires, logistical puzzles, and warm-ish campsite showers that should come with a survival badge. But we’ve also had mornings watching the mist roll off a lake while Ollie snores contentedly at our feet, and nights under skies so starry they make you forget your phone even exists.

So here we are. A little unconventional, a lot uncertain, but deeply alive. If you see The Mothership in a dusty parking lot or tucked into a national park, come say hi. We’ve got stories to share, probably some coffee to spare, and Ollie—who will, without question, greet you like you’re already part of the family.

Because maybe you are.