I have felt guilty ever since publishing this little article.  Like every home-schooling family, we have our good days (like this one), and we have our very, very bad days!!

I never set an alarm clock in the morning. I never have to. Two-year-old Samuel sleeps one thin wall away from my bed, and I can hear him start bumping around in his early-morning routine long before 7:00 a.m. He has a toy box right by his bed, and it generally keeps him busy for quite awhile.

Now, I like to sleep in as much as the next middle-aged mom, but I hop out of bed after only five more minutes of snooze time for two very important reasons. First, I know that if I wait long enough for the kids to get up, I will never get a shower today. Second, and perhaps more importantly, I could miss my early morning computer fix, without which I could not survive long as a home schooler.

Of course, as I am a woman who knows her priorities, the computer comes first. E-mail is easy today; its all spam so I go straight to my favorite homeschooling forum. This activity might seem trivial to some, but many of you will understand perfectly! These wonderful "e-friends" are my family, my support, my lifeline. From the homeschooling pediatrician who is terrified of dentists, to the ex-Navy Mensa member with the scary-brilliant children, to the 16-year-homeschooling-veteran mother of nine who remains my mentor to this day, I love them all. My day just wouldn't seem right without asking my questions, reading all the latest antics of one friends "boybarians," checking out opinions of the latest spelling curriculum, praying for another friends father who is dying of cancer, and, of course, offering tidbits of my own every chance I find. I love this place. I can be Dear Abby, Heloise, the Underground Shopper, and Erma Bombeck all at the same time.

So I'm not entirely surprised to find that suddenly an entire hour has passed, Samuel has escaped from his room and come crawling into my lap, and I have utterly missed any possibility of getting a shower.

"Eeeeaaaat! Eeeeaaaat!" Samuel insists, pointing frantically to the kitchen. "Tooooast!" he adds, as if I don't already know what he wants.  While I pop a piece of toast in the toaster, he pesters me again.  "Eeewww!" he insists, tugging at a sagging diaper.  We change it while the bread toasts, then he settles happily at the table (the table, mind you, not a high chair -- "Bubba" and "Sissy" don't use one, so neither will he). Instead, I strap him into an extra car seat I keep belted to a regular chair and hand him a piece of buttered bread while I fix his instant oatmeal.

About that time, 7½-year-old Sean David and 6½-year-old Rachael make it to the kitchen, the former bounding with infinite energy, the latter dragging with sleepy eyes. "He woke me up again!" she complains, and he doesn't even bother to deny it. I don't get it; these two fight like cats and dogs most of the day, and yet, they can't stand to be apart even long enough for one of them to wake up in the morning.

"You're not dressed," I remind them, just as I do every morning, and refuse to listen to breakfast requests until they return, rather hastily clad in their red polos and blue jeans. These uniforms are a recent addition to our little "Maranatha Academy." I find that it helps focus little first-grade minds on the fact that, yes, indeed, we really are going to do school today again. It also cuts down on questions when we go out ("What, no school today?" can really get old). And it helps streamline the morning routine and the weekly laundry.

"Got pockets?" I ask. They both nod, and I carefully count out 10 nickels each into their outstretched hands, then replace the nickel jar in the cabinet.

After settling on muffins for breakfast, I send Rachael for their CD player and ask Sean David to unload the dishwasher. He stomps his foot and whines, "Its Rachael's turn!" Without a word, I hold out my hand. He sighs unhappily and reluctantly forks over one of his precious nickels.

The "nickel system" is very effective system, but it is also relatively new, so he sometimes forgets first thing in the morning. Nine nickels left.  He knows he had better shape up if he wants all his privileges to remain intact for afternoon free time. He has to have at least five nickels left if he wants to watch "The Magic School Bus" after school, and if he loses them all, his day is over. Once, only once, he actually had to go to bed before noon. That never happened again!

Rachael sees the transaction. "What can I do to help you with breakfast, Mama?" she chirps cheerfully. (Nothing makes one child behave better than when the other misbehaves.) "Nothing," I reply. "Get your memory CD for this week."

While she runs off to the schoolroom to fetch it, I preheat the oven and pull a bag of frozen muffin batter from the freezer. This is one of the really good tips I have learned from my home schooling e-friends. Make a huge batch of muffins, drop the batter into greased foil cups with an ice-cream scoop, and freeze it raw. When you want fresh muffins, pull it out of the freezer, drop it into a muffin tin, and add 10 minutes to the regular cook time. Hot, fresh, fast, and easy.

I hand each child his notebook and put on the CD. I make these CDs new every week, usually on Sunday night. My CD burner has been one of the greatest additions ever to my computer, and I use it with religious fervor.

First on the recording is me, teaching them words to their weekly hymn this week, "Crown Him With Many Crowns." (I am in a not-so-passive rebellion against the new, popular worship styles that are sweeping through churches today, and it spills freely over into our home school. I grew up loving the old hymns, and by golly, my kids are going to love them, too. If they don't learn 'em at church, they're sure as shootin' gonna learn 'em at home!)

The kids know the routine. They listen quietly as I read through all three of the verses I want them to learn. Then, starting with the first verse, I recite one line at a time, and they repeat the line in the silent space I left on the recording. Then we recite the whole verse together, and move on to the next verse. I don't really mind singing on the recording (contrary to what I tell them when I'm mad, I kind of do like the sound of my own voice), but I don't include any music on the recording. I want to be sure they know the words, so we learn the hymn like a poem first. We will all sit down together and add the music on Friday.

Next up is a patriotic song, "We Love the USA!" copied from one of their music CDs. The state of Texas requires me to teach a course in good citizenship, and this year, that means learning every song from "America the Beautiful" to "The Star-Spangled Banner." They like this part. I have printed the music in their notebooks, and they sing along cheerfully, yelling the loud parts. Samuel helps.

Next is a selection entitled "Cold-Blooded Vertebrates" from another recording, to complement our current science unit on amphibians. It's a fast, very wordy song and they have trouble keeping up. But I know they are getting it because I have caught them singing parts of it when they thought I wasn't listening.

Rachael is learning her addition facts, so that song is next (sixes this week), and then multiplication sevens for Sean David. Finally, they follow along on a song that teaches them the sequence of ancient history events from Creation through Alexander the Great. As it finishes up, the muffins come out of the oven. I eat mine standing up while folding a load of dishtowels.

After breakfast, I toss a load of laundry in the wash, check the boys' room for chokable-size toys (I tossed most of those long ago, but some persist), and cheerfully inform Samuel that it is now "room time!" Sometimes he fusses, but routine is a wonderful thing. He knows it is time for him to play by himself, and today he toddles cheerfully into his room. I pull out some of his favorite toys -- some shape sorters, some blocks, and a toy car, then turn on the little TV that I keep high up on a shelf for this one time of the day. No one dares touch it at any other time.  This is Samuel's room-time TV only.

There is only one video tape in the VCR, and I play it for him every day. It's another home-made number, and I must say, I'm quite proud of it. One weekend last year, I spent hours and hours taping myself going through every set of flash cards in the house. "A... aah... apple," my voice says to him as the tape rolls, and the camera focuses on a colorful flash card. "B... buh... ball."

Samuel pounces on his block set and busily sets about building a tower while I fasten the baby gate closed behind me. I know that he will play more-or-less quietly for the next two hours -- mostly listening and sometimes watching -- as the tape alternates between alphabet letters, phonics sounds, classical music, numbers, shapes, colors, counting, and favorite family pictures from the photo album. With any luck at all, that time will get me through math, reading, and spelling with the other two. With luck.

They are already bickering when I reach the schoolroom. This room used to be the master bedroom, but my husband graciously allowed me to commandeer it for school since it was the largest room in the house.

"Mama!" Rachael cries, "Sean David...."

"I don't want to hear about it," I interrupt automatically.

"But he..."

"Is there blood or smoke?" I reply.

"No."

"Then get your books, sit down, and be quiet."

Sean David sticks out his tongue triumphantly at Rachael. I hold out my hand and he sadly forks over another nickel. She forfeits one, too, for trying to tattle. The turmoil thus calms somewhat, we begin school.

Devotions and prayer come first. Were working our way through a very good children's devotional book, but I wonder as they readily answer the questions if it has become too basic for them. As we finish, I make a note in my lesson planner that I should look around for another one soon.

Now its Sean David's turn to work with me alone. I used to try to have them work simultaneously, but we didn't do well with that, so now I work with them individually. SD doesn't like always having to go first, but today he remembers that it will cost him a nickel to say so, so he settles for an unhappy pout.

Temporarily free, Rachael bounds off to join Samuel in room time. They really enjoy this hour together. I know whatever struggle I have with SD, it will be accompanied by giggles and squeals from Samuel's room as he and "Sissy" play together.

Math first. Although he is not quite eight, Sean David is very advanced in math, one of the primary reasons I am so happy to be home schooling him. (He would not only be bored with normal first grade math, he is so fidgety that I am convinced that any public school on which I inflicted him would have him on Ritalin by the end of the first week.) This year, we are doing Saxon 5/4, and we open the book to Lesson 60. I'm not certain why he complains about math because once we get started, he seems to really enjoy it. He does the mental math better than I ever could (I have to check the answer key for most of the answers while he just rattles them off), and he is sharp and quick to grasp new concepts. This lesson seems to be all review, so after testing him with some of the practice problems, we move on to the next lesson. He understands this lesson, as well, so I assign him its 25 problems as afternoon homework, and we move on to spelling.

Sean David is up to level C in Spelling Power, and we are finally getting to some words that give him a bit of a challenge. He doesn't like that much (can't imagine where he got all these perfectionistic tendencies -- couldn't possibly be from his mother), and he cries angrily when he misses his first word. "Don't worry about it," I assure him. "It took me years to learn that one when I was in school."

"But I hate missing words!" he wails. I sigh to myself. Gonna be one of those days, is it?

Unfortunately, it is. Spelling does not go smoothly today, and it takes longer than usual to slug through the list. He has missed five words. I write them carefully on a piece of handwriting paper, assign them to him as copying homework -- ten times each -- and put spelling away.

By now, Sean David's attention span is pretty much shot. "Up!" I say to him cheerfully. "Give me 30 jumping jacks! Let's get some blood flowing to that brain of yours!" It is almost with relief that he complies, and he looks visibly better when he finishes.

"I'm hungry," he adds. (Of course you are.)

"You can have a granola bar as soon as we go over your homework," I reply. "Quick, now, were nearly done."

It takes only five minutes to go over the four grammar questions on his Easy Grammar 2/3 Daily Gram, and another five to assign his handwriting sheet. Reading is not a problem for this child, I can barely keep up with his book list so I jot down the two titles he finished yesterday, and assign him a new book. "Read for one hour, sometime before dinner," I remind him, and he vanishes like a fog in the morning sun.

"Raaaaaaa-chaaaaeeeel!" he cries as he disappears, more than happy now at having had to go first. "Your turn!"

I hear Samuel squeal angrily at losing his playmate, then his happy, "Hi!" as Sean David takes her place. They won't play long, I know. Sean David quickly loses interest in blocks, and will be off to start his homework as soon as he devours his snack. Samuel will pitch another fit, then when he doesn't get a response, will wander back to his toys and tape until I finish with Rachael.

Rachael is only a year younger than Sean David, but is so different from him that I can't even have them in the same room together while were doing core subjects. We, too, start with math.

We spend about five minutes reviewing the addition facts she is learning this week, then open her Arithmetic 1 workbook. I sit with her, offering encouragement when necessary, but letting her do the work. For some reason, she panics when she has to do the problems alone, they seem insurmountable. But if I sit with her, she flies right through them.

She's only six, I remind myself guiltily, and would only be in Kindergarten this year. Give the kid a break. So I humor her, and sit quietly watching as she does the work she didn't think she could do five minutes ago. I make another note in my lesson book: Have Rachael practice her 2's and 3's today during handwriting, she's still reversing them.

Phonics goes the same way. We do several pages together, some of it out loud, some of it written. I don't have her do every exercise. We skip the parts she knows well, or just touch on them orally. She's reading quite well now, and phonics is finally coming easily to her. We're well into the 2^nd grade book now, and will move on to Spelling Power when she completes it.

Reading is a fun time for us. We sit together on the couch, and I enjoy these few moments with the only cuddly child I have. She finishes reading the last chapter of The Fire Cat out loud to me, and I enthusiastically praise her improvements. I assign her another book to start reading during her reading time this afternoon, and we move on.

I assign her the same Daily Gram and handwriting sheet that I gave Sean David, but I know that she will do them more neatly. (Last week, I even found out that he had paid her to do his for him one day! They were both so surprised when I told them that was not acceptable.) She will probably illustrate the entire page with little cats and horses, too, but I kind of enjoy that.

I leave her at her desk, working quietly and efficiently. It's lunch time now, and Samuel is banging on his gate. Enough is enough, Mom. "Ooouuut!" he cries as soon as he hears me leave the schoolroom.

"Okay, Babe," I tell him, and bring him with me into the kitchen to fix lunch. Sean David is seated at the table where he does his homework, but he is gazing off into space and has only completed one math problem. "Are you going to lose all your nickels today?" I threaten him. He immediately starts scribbling out the next problem.

Before he finishes, Rachael arrives. "I'm finished!" she announces proudly. I check her work. Beautiful, as usual.

"Okay," I tell them both. "Recess!"

In a flash, all three of them are out the door. I begin lunch while I watch them play in the back yard. Samuel is in his swing, Rachael is tickling his feet as she pushes him, and Sean David is hanging wildly from his knees on the trapeze. This is the part of the day I love best -- watching them play together at home, mostly finished with school, before it is even noon!

After lunch, Samuel goes down for his nap, and the older kids and I settle on the couch for our afternoon lesson. Today it is history; tomorrow, we'll do science. Both kids are listening as I read to them, but you'd never know just by watching. By the time I am finished, Sean David is balanced in a precarious handstand and Rachael has just finished her sixth horse drawing.

"Okay," I quiz them. "Who was Queen Hatshepsut?" Miraculously, the information has penetrated their brains despite the activity of their busy little hands and feet. I quickly jot down the answers they dictate to me, and we tuck their "report" into their history notebook. Sometimes Rachael will illustrate hers, but today I don't ask her to.

"All done!" I announce, and there is much rejoicing. "Homework first," I remind them, "and then you can watch The Magic School Bus and Bill Nye, the Science Guy." They scramble to get the dreaded task out of the way. With any luck at all, they'll do more homework than bickering. With luck.

I sneak up to Samuel's door and listen carefully. The quiet snoring drifting out tells me he's good for another hour and a half of naptime.

And so am I.

How do you do it? my friends sometimes ask me. The answer is not all that complex. Dedication? Its a must. Organization? Sure helps! Good curricula? Absolutely. A supportive husband? Heaven-sent.

But there's one thing that stands out above all else in this moms battle to stay sane -- the afternoon siesta.

And I'm not above letting Bill Nye babysit my kids while I get it.