Feb. 13

I keep running into women in the same situation as me, and there's some comfort in that.

At Coco's, a woman in the booth across from me, asked, "Is your husband military, too? Is he away?" I replied yes, that I was just trying to get through another rainy day inside with the kids.

"Don't worry, we'll make it," she said, wrote her phone number on a napkin, and told me to call her any time.

At an event at Camp Pendleton's Mobile Home park, women chatted on street corners and flags waved above doorways. A woman emerged from her home, joyfully sharing the news that flowers had just arrived from her husband. She hadn't heard from him yet, but he had arranged to have flowers sent before shipping off. Her tears were contagious.

Feb. 14

Valentine's Day is generally a disappointing day for me. Blair thinks the day is a lame, materialistic attempt for marginal partners to make up for a year of inattentiveness. Translation: I only get a card. So spending the day alone was no biggie.

Instead, I contemplated the many silver linings of living solo. Yogurt and toast for dinner. Sleeping diagonally across the bed. Watching "The Bachelorette" in peace. Less laundry, less cleaning, less cooking. We'll certainly save money, and I won't have to share the computer or remote.

All silver linings.

Feb. 16

Lookout Goodwill, the great closet-cleaning campaign has begun. As an antidote to the grim news on TV, I decided to organize everything that Blair owns. My daughter and I spent two days rearranging and containerizing "Daddy's mess."

Oh, the sweet joy of finally having the chance to toss his high school basketball shirts, college sweat pants, and holey socks. With a smile on my face, I chucked shoes, paperwork, and ridiculously old underwear.

Sure, Blair might be a bit miffed when he returns, but maybe he'll be so grateful to be home that he won't even notice. Right?

Feb. 17

My son rolled over today. He did it once and then just kept going. I wanted to pick up the phone to tell Blair, but instead I yelled to my daughter, who's 2.

"Look, he's rolling! He did it!" Not grasping the significance of the moment, she dropped to the floor and exclaimed, "Mommy, look at me rolling, too!"

I'm still anxiously awaiting Blair's first letter. I want to know all the details of his new life. Did he get sick from the smallpox vaccine? Where is he sleeping and what is he eating? Is he sunburned, tired, sick of the sand?

When that letter finally comes, I plan to savor it, reading it by myself after the kids are tucked into bed.

Feb. 18

Word from Kuwait! Tonight I learned third-hand that Blair and his company are enduring miserable conditions. So far this adventure has brought only sandstorms, freezing temperatures, MRE's (Meal, Ready to Eat), and baby-wipe showers.

They haven't received mail yet, nor eaten a hot meal.

Sprawled across my bed in cozy pajamas, I feel a twinge of guilt.

But he's a Marine and in some twisted way, he's probably loving every minute of it.