By Marine Corps standards, we're prepared. We updated our wills, obtained a Special Power of Attorney and bought additional life insurance.

We have video and audiotapes for the kids, with Blair reading to them and just being silly. I created picture books for each of them, depicting a ``Day with Daddy.''

On paper, yes, we're prepared. But here I am, listening to the rapid beating of my heart in the middle of the night, feeling utterly unprepared.

In our neighborhood, Blair is one of the last to deploy. The other wives are very interested in his departure date. They know as well as I do that I'll fit in better when we're all in the same boat.

I can visualize saying goodbye to him. But I can't see how he will say goodbye to our daughter. How do you say goodbye to a toddler when you don't know when you'll return? When he'll certainly miss the day she turns 2, her first tricycle ride and daily butterfly kisses? When he knows that she will miss him and not understand why he is gone? I imagine he'll just cling to her, and, after months of masking his feelings, the tears will flow.

Jan . 31, 2003; 8 p.m.

What is my problem? Our days are numbered and I'm picking the silliest fights. The truth is that I'm just a little angry.

My neighbor's 5-year-old son is angry, too. He wants to know why his mom won't just go to the airport to pick up his dad. He is sure that his dad will be at the terminal waiting for them.

When she told him that he wasn't coming home for a long time, he said, ``But it's already been a long time.''

Feb. 4, 2003; 11:21 p.m.

The last few days have been amazing. We were a blissful foursome, filling the days with picnics, ice-cream cones, cuddling and laughing.

But today was inevitable. We went for a long family run around Dana Point. I made Blair's favorite spaghetti dinner. He called his folks and told them not to worry. We kept our spirits high and avoided reality as long as possible.

We sat in the car tonight outside of his office building. Our goodbyes were tender and utterly heartbreaking.

It's awfully quiet in my house tonight, and I'll take baby steps for the next day or two. Tonight I need to brush my teeth and get in bed. That's all I need to do. I'll deal with the rest later.

Feb. 5, 200 3; 8:24 p.m.

The plan for today was to keep busy, and, boy, did we ever. After play dates, stroller rides and dinner at a neighbor's house, we were exhausted.

A few tears escaped at random times throughout the day, but I expected them.

One of my neighbors told me that she went to the gym to cancel her husband's membership. She explained that he was a deployed Marine. When the woman at the counter said she couldn't cancel another person's membership without their verbal or written approval, she burst into tears and said, ``He's not coming back anytime soon. What's wrong with you? Don't you watch the news?'' Of course, the membership was immediately canceled.