My toughest year was 1990. My boys were five and ten. We had just moved into a new house with no air conditioning -- in August (a hot month in Georgia) -- and my back went out in the process of moving. I had two weeks before I had to leave for Mississippi, where I'd spend six weeks caring for my mother-in-law, who had Alzheimer's Disease, and for my father-in-law. The boys were going with me, but my husband had to stay home to work.

My back was just barely in good enough shape for the drive, but we made it down there, where they had air conditioning, which was a good thing, because it's even hotter in Mississippi in August.

Adding to my stress was the fact that I'd been unable to unpack a thing before leaving and had been having a lot of trouble with an upset stomach for several months.

I had expected the trip to be a bit of a vacation, but I learned quickly that caring for an Alzheimer's patient is a highly stressful ordeal. I'm a pretty laid back person, but it wore on me to the point that I was living on Tums.

I had planned to start the school year in Mississippi, but it proved to be impossible, at least in a formal sense. Fortunately, I've always been flexible, so we adapted to our circumstances.

When the home health aid came, we went to the library and loaded up on books. A few times, we were able to carve out enough time to visit a museum or a playground. The boys had fun playing, but at times my youngest was frustrated by the amount of attention my mother-in-law required. So was I. She had to be watched and tended to constantly. Her disease was advanced, but she was physically strong and active -- and she never seemed to sleep!

I worked hard to hide the stress I felt, because I didn't want the trip to be a bad experience for my boys, but by internalizing it I only exacerbated my stomach problems.

By the time we got home, I was very sick. I spent many weeks lying on the sofa, barely able to function, subsisting on saltines and weak tea. I managed a shower every day and dinner every night. I left all the boxes sitting. When my hair started falling out, I went to see a doctor, who ran tests that all came back okay then suggested that stress was the cause of my problems.

Fortunately, my boys were great kids and adjusted to Mommy's tough time. They played in the living room with me, and my oldest faithfully did his math and some other workbooks and helped watch out for his little brother.

I can't say that anything in particular instigated the healing process -- maybe it was just a lot of rest -- but I slowly began to feel better. I started unpacking, and life returned to normal.

Thinking back on that hard time now, I realize that I never once considered some other schooling option for my boys. Homeschooling was such a part of our lives, of the very fabric of who we were, that the thought of some other arrangement never even crossed my mind.

I wouldn't live that year over for anything in the world, but it's good to look back and see that we faced a tough challenge and got through it.