From Suburbia to the Sierra
Our Family's Leap into Life on the Open Road - and so much more
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 5th 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.