I’m glad you asked.
It’s like this: I’m the Sherpa and my teenaged boys are the ill-prepared tourists with a dream of climbing Mt. Everest. I’m dragging them along, roped to them, and they are dead weight. And I’m trudging up, bearing their unwieldy bulk, pulling them up vertical slopes but not because they care anymore. Oh, no. I’m doing it because I care, because I am determined to get them to the summit. I’m doing it because it’s my job. They gasp for air, they stumble along and I strain to get us all up, up, up to the top. We will not give up.
And when we reach the top? I’m thinking about pushing them over the precipice and parachuting 24,000 feet to the valley below, free at last.
Okay, not that last part. But the Sherpa part? That is what homeschooling reluctant students in June is like. Grueling. Thankless. And almost over. Two finals stand between us and freedom.