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Jennica Joyce Yoga, Joshua Tree, CA (2025)

11/16/2025

Our last big stop before turning toward home: Tombstone, Arizona.

An old western town where stunt shows echo down the street, cigarette smoke curls through the air (more than I’ve seen in years), and deer slip quietly between RV sites at dusk as if they own the place.

We squeezed our rig into a tiny campground spot just a short walk from the historic strip. Tight quarters, but somehow it felt exactly right.

Tombstone is tiny now—less than 1,400 people—but during the silver rush it was bigger than San Francisco. A boomtown turned quiet dot on the map. A reminder that every season—busy or simple—has its own kind of magic, and that change really is the only constant.

With the kids, we kept it super simple: one campground within walking distance, one show a day, a slow stroll through history, and then early bedtime in the RV. That’s been our secret this whole trip: choose one anchor activity and let the rest be margin.

My favorite part? Learning how the town got its name. The founder was warned he’d “meet his tombstone” if he went exploring out here. Instead of backing down, he turned the threat into the name of a whole town. A little reminder: sometimes the words that sound like warnings become the doorway to your next adventure.

Now we’re pointing the RV toward California, traveling farther and faster than we have this whole trip. The whole family agrees: it’s time to go home and find a new rhythm again. And yes… I’m already dreaming up our next spring break or summer escape. 😉

And here’s a little reflection for you:
If you could press pause on regular life for one week with your family, where would you go?

If you feel like sharing, drop it in the comments so we can borrow ideas from each other. 🤍🚐🌵

11/14/2025

New Mexico — the Land of Enchantment — lived up to its name in every way.

From Roswell, where the kids squinted at the sky hoping maybe they'd spot what people swear they saw decades ago…

To Bottomless Lakes State Park, where we took a spontaneous mini-dip because the weather felt like it was giving us a bonus summer day…

To White Sands National Park, where we sled down snow-white dunes that stayed cool to the touch even in the warm sun…

We ended that day cooking eggplant-lentil stew at a tiny campground, the kids fully immersed in playing army, all of us gathered close in that way that only happens when life gets simple.

It hit me — we’re less than 14 hours from home. Gunnar started learning handwriting in New Mexico. And the drive through an unexpected forest in the middle of the desert felt like a metaphor for the entire trip: you think you know the terrain, then suddenly life surprises you with something lush and alive.

Part of me could keep going forever — waking up to new landscapes, saying yes to play, leaning into the slow rhythm that RV life forces in the best way.

And part of me is ready to return home. Both truths exist. Both feel honest.

I look forward to taking a real bath (my little girl and I have said this more than once 😂).

But I also know I’m going to miss how effortless connection feels out here.

I’ll miss our nightly ritual of watching "Little House on the Prarie" or the “Beast Challenge” together, the kids piled around us, the kind of presence that takes intention at home but happens naturally on the road.

There’s something about being away that reminds you of who you are when the noise quiets.

And something about going home that challenges you to carry those discoveries with you, even when life gets loud again.

What’s something you try to remember when real life gets busy again?

11/09/2025

What’s something you wish you knew again that you knew as a kid?

We’ve been on the road for over two months now — four kids, one RV, zero dishwasher.

In the beginning, my husband did all the dishes. I happily let him. But somewhere along the way, I put on my big girl pants and said, “I got this too.”

And this week, as we stayed put for four nights in Northeast Texas — the longest we’ve stayed anywhere — I noticed something new: I actually enjoy it.

The warm water, the rhythm, the satisfaction of seeing an empty sink — there’s a quiet peace in doing something simple with your hands.

It’s funny because pre-kids, when my husband and I lived in a home without a dishwasher, the dishes caused our biggest tension. We’d argue over whose turn it was, both exhausted, both wanting to do anything but scrub plates.

But out here, on the road, I’ve realized — that’s not my version of success. I don’t want to escape the small things. I want to feel them.

Maybe that’s what we knew as kids — when we played “house” and “kitchen” and found joy in pretending to do exactly what we now call chores. Somewhere along the way, we forgot.

I’m remembering again. How about you?

11/01/2025

I used to see Halloween as “the devil’s holiday.”

Now I see it as a night for connection, creativity, and remembering those we love.

A few weeks ago we went big at Jellystone in Massachusetts — like, helicopter candy drop big 🍬🚁.

We even made friends with another camping family and entered our boys in the costume contest as “The Friendly Superheros” 🦸‍♂️😂 because apparently that’s what happens when kids mix creativity with campground politics.

But on actual Halloween, we found ourselves parked at a quiet state park along the Arkansas River — calm, peaceful, and far from the chaos. Only a few campers had candy, so we ended up passing out more than we collected. Honestly, it felt right.

Our crew: two hunters, a Transformer, a tiger, and Sally (me 💀🎀) from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Dinner came first:
🫐 witches’ eyes (blueberries)
🥒 frog legs (cucumber sticks)
🍓 blood hearts (strawberries)

A spooky little tradition I hope sticks. Public health for the win. 😉

I didn’t grow up celebrating Halloween. Over time, I’ve learned to reframe it — not as a night of gluttony or horror, but as a chance to meet neighbors, get creative, and honor those who’ve passed.

✨ May the traditions that bring blessings stick — and may we always find a little light in the dark.

PS- Bonus points if you can name the house we are in front of in picture 8 and 9. Hint: its in Alabama

10/28/2025

Our cave guide talked about bacon and popcorn… and now that’s all my 6-year-old remembers about Kentucky. 🍿🥓

Back in Maine, I met a 9-year-old who’s been full-time RVing for six years — practically his whole life.

So naturally, I asked him:
“What’s your favorite place you’ve ever been?”

Without missing a beat:
“Mammoth Cave.”

At the time, I had to Google where that even was (Kentucky 😅).
I laughed and said, “Maybe we’ll go there one day.”

My husband swears I got laser-focused after that conversation — but honestly, getting excited about things is just what I do. It’s how I bring joy to the planning and life to the journey.

I never thought we’d actually go on this trip,
but here I am — letting go of the reins —
and somehow, magic happens yet again.

Only plot twist: the government shutdown meant no tours inside Mammoth Cave.

So we headed to Diamond Caverns instead — and it turned out to be perfect.

Our 6-year-old listened wide-eyed as the guide described formations that looked like bacon 🥓 and popcorn 🍿.
Now that’s all he talks about.

Maybe that’s the real lesson — when we loosen control, life fills the gaps with something even better.

Can you spot the belly button formation in photo 5? (Yes, that’s what our guide called it 😂)

10/25/2025

Our home on wheels is rolling again…
and apparently my life lessons are too. 😅

You’d think I’d have mastered the whole flow + surrender thing by now.

Spoiler: I have not. 😂

The moment we pulled out of the mechanic’s lot, the tension crept back in…

I want plans + people + predictability.
My husband wants freedom + sunshine.

Cue the gentle marital tug-of-war. 🥴

And life whispers (again):

“Pay attention. The magic is in the moments you didn’t script."

Like when my daughter grabbed my hand and said, “This is the BEST date ever, Mamma!” on our takeout dash.

Or when my 8-year-old let me carry him the last stretch, silent with a tummy that hurt so badly.

My arms say yes while they still can.

Also yes — I threw an adult-sized tantrum in a gas station parking lot… and had no idea why I was upset. 🙃 I asked my husband if he knew — he didn’t either. We laughed right then and there.

If yoga has taught me anything, it’s this:

It’s not about perfection.
It’s about transitions.
Judging less.
Getting curious more.

So I breathe.
I ask questions.
I soften.

We still don’t know exactly when we’ll make it home to Joshua Tree.
We’re letting weather + whimsy shape the pace.

Meanwhile, our toddler tried to walk out of the camper, rolled down the stairs, and somehow managed to headbutt a bike on the way down. He’s totally fine — our tiniest warrior on the road.🤕✨

May we all have that level of grit.

Life’s best lessons aren’t in the plan. They’re in the giggles, the scrapes, and the tiny arms around your neck.

See you somewhere between here and home. 🫶🌵🚐

Meanwhile, I got to know.

Which one are you on road trips?
🗺️ The planner
🌞 The free spirit
🤣 The baby who wrestles bikes

PS — I got behind the wheel for the first time after we got the RV back. Took one spin around the parking lot and thought, I’m good.

Alex, take the wheel. 😅

10/23/2025

The power steering gave out just after we decided to cut the trip short — almost like life itself had something to say about my need to move, to plan, to steer.

We were only trying to make things easier: one less detour, a shorter drive, a more direct route home. But then came the leak — quick, whirring, impossible to ignore.

So here we are, grounded in Virginia, in a quiet hotel room instead of our little house on wheels. And I can’t help but wonder… maybe this pause isn’t mechanical at all, but spiritual.

Maybe something in me needed to stop leaking energy, control, or worry. Maybe life is asking me to loosen my grip on the wheel — to let the steering go soft and remember what it feels like to be guided.

What if this breakdown isn’t bad timing, but exactly what we needed?
What if we're not being delayed, just redirected?

I keep asking myself:

Where have I been forcing direction instead of going with the flow?

What parts of me are running low and actually just need rest?

What would it mean to let grace take the wheel, even just for this stretch of road?

Maybe the lesson isn’t fixing what’s broken.
Maybe it’s remembering who’s really in control — not the driver, but the divine current beneath it all.

If you need to loosen the reins a little too, try this: put your hands on the steering wheel, your laptop, or even your shoulders — anywhere you feel tension. Take a slow inhale and exhale, and consciously soften your hold. Notice how your body or mind responds.

That’s your first taste of letting go — you don’t have to wait for your car to break down. 🙂

PS — we did get some pool time, and we’re right next to a movie theater. When life throws lemons… just breathe. 🙂

10/21/2025

War shaped this land. Motherhood reshapes how I see it.

A visit to the Gettysburg Battlefield Museum stirred something deep in me.
History has a way of asking hard questions —
Can the means ever truly justify the end?
Can men ever truly die in vain?

As I watched the film, I thought of my boys — their wrestling, their play fights, their jiu-jitsu lessons.
We talk about consent and respect. Stop means stop.

Maybe peace begins there — in how we teach strength with sensitivity.

In how we let our children feel their power and their empathy.

My old professor, a Holocaust survivor, once told me that just as humanity has outgrown practices once seen as normal, so too can we one day outgrow war.

That idea lingers.
And it makes me wonder —

If peace begins at home, what does it look like in your home?

Tonight, we rest in Virginia.
And somehow it feels fitting.
Virginia is for lovers. ❤️

10/16/2025

Just finished reading The Witch of Blackbird Pond with my oldest — and then visiting Weathersfield, Connecticut, where the story took place. 🤯 Talk about bringing a book to life!

That’s the magic of reading and traveling — they both invite you to imagine yourself somewhere new.

Leaving our campground in Massachusetts yesterday, surrounded by fiery leaves 🍂 and that unmistakable “pahk the cah” accent, I felt a little wave of patriotism. Traveling through New England feels like stepping straight into the spirit of early America— imperfect, evolving, and full of stories that still shape us. 🇺🇸

Of course, it's not all picture perfect — a little fever has been making its way around the RV, and bread (which we rarely eat at home) has somehow become a food group again 😂 But maybe that’s part of the adventure too — learning to savor the simple comforts and laugh at the chaos.

The changing leaves, the first real New England rainstorm 🌧️, and the kids’ laughter as they counted down the minutes before the downpour hit — it all feels like one big science and social studies lesson wrapped in gratitude.

Next we’re off toward New Jersey Shores, through Dutch Country in Pennsylvania and (fingers crossed 🤞) on to Washington, D.C. — if the budget standoff ends and the monuments reopen. 🇺🇸

So tell me — if you could bring a story to life and visit its setting, what book would you choose? Or better yet, what should we read next to match our route? 📚

10/11/2025

My six-year-old asked me something I couldn’t answer — and it’s been echoing in my mind ever since.

He said, “Mom, if I’m perfect just as I am, why do you keep telling me to stop?”

I froze.

Because he’s right.

I do tell him he’s perfect as he is — and yet I also tell him to stop hitting his sister or screaming in the baby’s ears.

Both are true.

We’re about halfway through our three-month road school adventure, nearly 3,000 miles from home. Somewhere between Maine’s rocky beaches and playground stops, this question has followed me — reminding me that parenting is one long conversation between what is and what could be.

I think about the lessons I grew up with — to work hard, to improve, to be my best. My parents wanted that for me because they wanted my life to be easier, fuller, better. And I’m so grateful for that.

But I also see how easy it is to carry those same values so tightly that we forget to pause and simply be.

Now, as a parent, I’m trying to hold both truths:

That growth matters — and that we are already whole.

That we can teach responsibility — without teaching shame.

Maybe that’s what breaking generational cycles really is… not rejecting what came before, but refining it with more awareness, softness, and grace.

Because deep down, I think we’re all born good.
We just forget sometimes.

✨ How do you balance teaching your kids right from wrong while helping them feel enough just as they are?

10/07/2025

Some days parenting feels like a love story. Other days, it’s a lesson in patience I didn’t sign up for.

Holding hands with my oldest around a quiet lake in Ohio, chatting about the geese nearby, I think—I must be doing something right.

That same day, in the RV after breakfast, the boys are wrestling, someone gets hurt, and I mutter, what’s the matter with you?

Also me as a parent — just not at my finest.

Both are true.

A family friend in his 90s once told me, “You’ll think you’re doing it all wrong, but somehow they turn out all right.”

At the time, I didn’t get it. But now, living in an RV with four kids eight and under, I do.

This adventure — epic, messy, magical — stretches my nervous system in ways home life never did.

I used to feel guilty for my outbursts or the moments I wasn’t proud of. But now I see them as fast passes to life lessons I’m ready to learn — invitations to lean in, let go of pride, and start again.

Maybe that’s what parenting really is: falling and getting back up, over and over, with love.

And just when I forget how lucky I am, my daughter reminds me.
I asked her, “Who chose you to be my daughter?”
Without blinking, she said, “God did.”

Whatever name you give it — God, Source, the Universe — I believe love is what speaks through it all. The whole ocean, in a single drop.

Today we found ourselves rolling through the (surprisingly to us) large state of New York, on our way to a pit stop in Vermont. The Atlantic Ocean is calling — here we come.

I’m curious how we’ll all feel dipping our toes in the Atlantic after so much time with the Pacific — another reminder of how far we’ve come, and how much there’s still to experience.

Maybe we’re not meant to do it perfectly.
Maybe we’re just meant to keep learning, loving, and showing up — even when it’s messy.

Because as the Foo Fighters say…
🎶 It’s times like these you learn to live again… to give again… to love again. 🎶

✨ What’s a lesson life (or your kids) are teaching you right now?

10/01/2025

Michigan, you’ve been wild, wonderful, and a little unpredictable.

From storm-twisted forests that completely fascinated my 8-year-old to duck battles in the St. Claire River (my little girl called it “the best show ever” as I was rescued by my shirtless knight wielding a sand shovel 🏖🦆), adventure found us everywhere.

The kids couldn’t get enough of the giant jumping pillow at our last campground—burying each other in sand daily (hello, nonstop showers 🚿). We even collected acorns to boil and test later—turns out I’m roadschooling right alongside them. The boys and I got to fish for the very first time.

Best of all? Family time. Uncles, aunts, and cousins (and their kids the same age as mine!). Watching six little cousins who’d never met before instantly become best friends? Pure magic.

Michigan was more food, less structure, and the sweetest reminder of why we’re doing this—to be with our kids, connect with family, and learn everywhere.

Ohio, here we come. 💛

PS Want the full duck drama? If 3 people comment “duck”, I’ll spill the whole ridiculous story on my blog. 🦆😂

Jennica Joyce Yoga

11/16/2025

11/14/2025

11/09/2025

11/01/2025

10/28/2025

10/25/2025

10/23/2025

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