Bushwhacking Through Life

While in Tahoe I took myself on a solo adventure.

Leaving the boys to fish I shouldered the enormous

camera and set off around this gorgeous alpine lake:

No one but our family was around and once far enough 

away from Chatty Charlie (a.k.a Richard Landon) I relished the sweet silence. 

Following a well-trodden path I leisurely walked to the far side of the lake.

And then played "echo" across the water with the boys on the other side. 

The second half of the trail seemed a bit less used, but hating to go back the way I came I set off to finish the full loop. About a quarter of the way through I noticed that big chunks of trail were "missing". Then around half-way I realized what my husband would have been able to tell me a quarter of a mile ago - I was following an animal path - not a man-made trail.

Oh well, the lake was small and I hate to go back and not finish the entire journey around., so I would just follow the waters edge until I got back to the boys.

Here I am thirty minutes into that plan:

If only I had though to pack a machete. 

Eventually I made it the entire way around the lake.

But the final score:

Manzanita trees - 1

Thorn bushes - 1

Gigantic boulders - 1

Anna - 0

Today my morning felt a bit like my alpine adventure.

Basically the day was kicking my ass,

and I was just bushwhacking my way through.

I woke up late.

Spilled my coffee.

Dropped an egg.

Put my son on time-out for the thirty-millionth time for hitting his mother.

Felt like failure because he still thinks hitting is funny.

Arrived late to First 5.

Discovered that all the other children knew today was "be sweet and kind to everyone day" and Landon was mixed up. He thought it was "whine, and hit, and throw tantrums day."

But I'm an adventurer.

And adventurers don't give up.

We plow though the thorns and tangles,

we pray for guidance along the way,

and we persevere.

And when we do

we eventurally find ourselves surrounded by the sweetest rewards. 

Like I did.

The day at the lake.

At least that's what I'm counting on 16.5 years from now when Chatty Charlie turns 18.
Someone please tell a scraped up girl it's true?!