I worry....
I worry about the boys' education. Am I doing an adequate job? How are they doing compared to their peers?

Every once in a while a small consolation comes along to make me think....well, that things are OK. Martha had to write a poem/essay/or produce some sort of artistic project as an adjunct to her rock climbing class. She wrote a lovely poem in which she made a reference equating a difficult day on the climbing wall to ‘suffering like Sisyphus.’ I will give the teacher a certain amount of credit. He wsn’t sure who Sisyphus was, but had an inkling and looked him up. I worry about the handful of students who had to be disabused of the idea that Martha was sufferiing with syphilis.

So I guess I’m doing an OK job.