We had just returned from a craft fair at the library. Kate and Jacob were hot from the summer's sun and tuckered out from selling their dolls, jewelry, and cupcakes for the past two hours. I had put our two year old to sleep for one of his rare afternoon naps and slipped into my bathing suit; a cool swim in the pool awaited me.

I was on my way out the back door to join the kids in the pool when the phone rang. It was a mother from New York City, she had been phoning all the unschooling support groups in her own state and had been unable to contact anyone. New Jersey was her next choice and my name was on the top of her list. ³Do you have a minute to talk?² she inquired, sounding relieved that she had finally reached someone. The pool was put on hold.

She was searching for someone with whom she could discuss unschooling. September had become a time of dread for her, homeschooling wasn't what she had expected. What had started out as spending time living and learning together had shifted into school at home.

For the last two years she had been homeschooling her children using a purchased curriculum that fed her daily lessons. Each day her daughter was required to work on the lesson plan: work book sheets along with a detailed system of study to learn how to read. She told me that her seven year old daughter was fatigued with all the writing that was demanded, and her five year old son was fast approaching the time that he too would be required to fall under a stricter regimen.

"How do you unschool?" she wanted to know; it was a question I had asked myself many times in the past. She had read stories of people who homeschool without using a purchased curriculum, but had never met or spoken with anyone who didn't follow one. The people in her support group all worked on daily lessons with their children, and after two years of trying to do the same she was ready for another way.

Her questions were 'how can you homeschool without a curriculum' and 'what do I do with my children.' For her the difficulty of following someone else's plan resulted in conflict, tension, stress, and burnout, but she worried that if she didn't follow a curriculum then how could her children keep up academically. She fretted that without a curriculum to follow their days would lack structure, and given no structure how could her children continue to learn at an equal rate to their age mates. Her fears and questions mirrored mine of four years ago. My constant questions at that time were: ³What should we do each day? How much time should we spend working on academic activities? How much just playing? How can we do both simultaneously?² I knew that I didn't want to follow a daily lesson plan, but was unsure of what exactly to do instead. Searching for answers, I read every article I could get my hands on about a typical day or week of homeschooling. I thought that if I could only find the perfect model then I would simply use it for ourselves. I hunted for a formula. But what I found instead were stories that told me there was no typical day. Each day was unique unto itself. Most families followed some sort of routine but these routines were flexible enough to allow them to experience a wide range of fluctuations.

When Kate was young it was so easy to trust her abilities to learn. She was a sponge, and everything in sight was soaked up. Through observing her it became obvious to me that children are born to learn. As a toddler she memorized poems, recognized the sequence of events, remembered experiences that happened a year or more ago, discovered associations between objects -- all the amazing feats that toddlers do. All this occurred as we went about our lives. We did not drill her on her memory of past events or test her on what comes next when daddy announces ³It's bath time.² When Jacob began to toddle about we were further convinced that yes, children do acquire all this information about their world simply by being in it. He memorized, recognized, remembered, and discovered much as Kate did.

But something happened to my trust and faith when Kate approached six. I began to doubt that what we did would be sufficient enough for her to keep up. Heck, I didn't want her to merely keep up with her peers, I wanted her to excel! Bombarding me from all sides were messages that children need more than what we can give them at home. They need enrichment! They need stimulation! They need a challenge and competition! So began our journey into homeschooling with a curriculum. It was an experiment that lasted on and off for two years. During that time we experienced our share of conflict, tension, and burnout resulting from my attempts to control Kate's learning. Ultimately the curriculum was eroding my faith in her innate ability to learn. So last year we threw the curriculum out and made our own plans. This time Kate and I were taking steps to become partners in the adventure.

In the past I had tried to work with Kate after breakfast. In every article that I read about homeschooling the children would study in the morning. In some homes completing their homeschool work would enable them to have the afternoons free for play, and this method made perfect sense to me. The children would awaken fresh and attentive. The work could be discussed when the toddler and baby were alert from their night's sleep. And I could cross off the assignments of my list of things to do. Perfect. I could relax the rest of the day without the pressure of unfinished tasks hanging over my head.

There was only one problem: Kate. Kate is the type of person who wakes up slowly. Don't hurry her in the morning. She takes her time getting ready for the day. She also awakens later than the rest of us. So while I may have arisen two hours earlier with Gabriel, Kate is just emerging from her slumber. I'm raring to go. Kate is rubbing the sleep from her eyes. My attempts at speeding up the waking up process usually backfired. Instead of hurrying her up she would frequently become annoyed and sink into lethargy. When given the time Kate gradually emerges from her night's rest. And when she does nine times out of ten she has a plan. One day she may wake up, open a book, and sit on the couch for two hours reading. Another day she summons her brothers and they are off to the playroom dressing up in costumes and pretending to be ghosts. Other times she will build a ramp for the trains or set up car races or sit in her room and dress up her dolls and create stories for them to enact. After facing this situation day after day for nearly two years and having numerous discussions about it, Kate suggested a solution. She would have the mornings to do what was important to her and after we ate lunch she would work with me on projects that were important to me. Her solution was an eye opening experience for me. Here she was truly letting me know that she was competent to organize her own day. All that was needed then was to respect her decision and allow her the time to carry out her ideas. Why hadn't I thought of that? So that is what we do. Now Kate has the time and opportunity to do what is paramount to her. I am joined by a child who is eager to be with me, open to my ideas, and not resentful towards me for taking her away from her interests. Our days have a structure that respects her learning style. Instead of my forcing her to sit and write in her journal at 10 a.m., we come together at 1:30 p.m. and compile a book about our summer vacation on the dude ranch.

While we don't follow a curriculum our days do have a structure. In the book Kids Are Worth It, Barbara Coloroso describes three types of families; the jellyfish, the brickwall, and the backbone. In the jellyfish family, structure is almost nonexistent. The environment is chaotic. Rules and guidelines are absent or inconsistent. Children don't know what is expected of them. In the brickwall family the parents set the rules. Children obey. Discussions are few and far between. The structure is unyielding. Control and power belong to the parents. The backbone family is flexible yet firm, just like your spine. Children are loved unconditionally. The house rules are understandable, mistakes are seen as chances to change and grow, and children are not rushed into learning new skills. I strive to make our days the same way. A schedule exists, but we are open to bending.

Some days are smoother than others. There are days when Kate doesn't want to do what I ask her, or Gabriel is fussy, or the children are fighting, or any one of a hundred of problems occur. But there are also those days when everything clicks: the children are happy, engaged, and we have a time to cherish forever. For us, homeschooling is a process that keeps changing and evolving over time. The more we live it, the more we learn.