Editor's note: Jenny Sokol's husband, Marine Capt. Blair Sokol, is expected to return from Iraq in the next few weeks. She is a graduate of the Naval Academy and lives in San Clemente with her 2-year-old daughter and infant son.

"Regardless of the length and circumstances causing the separation, the service member and the family will go through a period of adjustment upon return."

Marine Corps Return & Reunion Handbook

There is an air of anticipation in my neighborhood. A few ladies have already replaced yellow ribbons with "Welcome Home" signs, and it's almost my turn. Before the end of June, I'll be the one excitedly looking for my husband as Marines file off buses.

Although I'm eager to resume our life together, the Return & Reunion Handbook cautions that our readjustment period will last six to eight weeks. The handbook, distributed at a recent briefing, offers advice and levels expectations for the Marine's loved ones.

Normal deployments strain even the healthiest relationships. Slight cracks can become deep crevices after months of limited communication. After the initial high of a reunion, a couple must renegotiate roles and settle back into everyday life.

Everyday life is full of not-so-pleasant realities. Like insanely loud cereal chewing. Or empty containers returned to the fridge. Itty-bitty hairs around the sink after weekly head shavings, or using whichever toothbrush looks appealing.

Common sense dictates that the post-deployment honeymoon phase must eventually end. The bills, trash, and laundry pile up, and someone's got to take care of it.

When the time is right, I will gently remind Blair that he is no longer in Iraq, nor is he Rambo. He is a loving husband and father, but he is also the trash man.

Since Blair suffered hearing loss in a battle, this message may need to be repeated loudly and forcefully until it is received.

"The infant will likely cry when held by the Marine, pull away, fuss"

Blair missed so much. When he left, our son could only smile and laugh. He still terrorized us at night. Now Little Hoo-Yah crawls, pulls up on furniture, and munches table-food with five little teeth. He babbles, "MAMAMA" and splashes like a maniac in the bathtub.

My daughter now says "I love you so much," and, "See ya later, alligator." She met Mickey Mouse, developed a passion for jelly beans, celebrated a birthday, and learned to ride both a tricycle and the "big-girl swing." She suffered potty-training failures, hour-long temper tantrums and many a scraped knee.

I believe that they'll both give their dad a warm welcome, but, as this is new territory for me, I can only predict.

"Avoid getting into the 'who had it worse' game."

During a normal deployment, those who remain behind are often the ones who "have it worse." They work, raise children, maintain the household, and generally "do it all."

Last October, Blair was away for a month, just three weeks after our son was born. When he returned, I needed time to whine, rest and just be alone.

This time, it's different. Blair's been sleeping on the ground and eating out of a bag for months. He's battled dust storms, intense heat, a couple of life-threatening firefights, black-clad terrorists and swarms of biting flies. This time, I'll be the one praising and pampering. I'm proud of him and he deserves it, but I suspect being the pamperer isn't as much fun as the pamperee.

Last week, Register photographer Mark Avery sent me 10 amazing photographs, all of which included my husband. I sat in front of the mailbox flipping through them again and again. As I looked at the scenes, the full magnitude of his responsibilities during the war hit me. After this, how can he come home and listen to me talk about "big-girl" swings?

This experience will leave its mark on all of the Marines in Alpha Company, though in varying degrees. The reunion process will be easy for some, challenging for others.

Blair and I are now able to communicate via e-mail, and he confessed that he has indeed changed, but only for the better. His faith and love for family has intensified, and he'll treasure life's small pleasures (like ice cubes and Klondike bars).

My husband's no dummy. He seems to have chosen a foolproof reunion strategy: "I'm in great mental health, and ready to check-in to my new chain of command, my new commanding officer, the new ship's captain. I look forward to working for you, ma'am."

We should be just fine.