March 3

Our Battalion's Key Volunteers activated the phone tree this week, calling spouses with news of upcoming activities. As I phoned wives, I learned that many had received phone calls from their husbands.

"Oh, really, he called? Hmm, when was that?" I would say, hiding my growing agitation.

Truth be told, I'm hurt. Most likely, there's a logical reason why Blair's company had access to a phone and he didn't call me. But a little voice in my head wonders, "Geez, is he too lazy to wait in line? Too busy for a quick phone call? Or is he just not missing us much?"

I hope he knows that I won't dissolve into tears if he calls. There is too much I want to ask him and share with him. I'll prove to him that calling home is worthwhile; I'll be a pillar of strength and optimism.

March 5

Only a true friend would fly cross-country, three kids in tow, just to keep me company. My sister, also hoping to escape crummy East Coast weather, did just that this week. Kathy told her children that Uncle Blair had gone to help people in a country where the president makes a lot of bad weapons, and that was a good enough reason for them.

So, there are five children ages 4 and under in my little home right now.

My daughter, The Holy Terror, is defending her turf by pushing and hitting her cousins. Her arsenal of coping mechanisms also includes getting under the covers in her bed or wailing, "Hold me, hold me!" I am truly embarrassed.

Blair and I each have a mini-cassette recorder, and I record messages for him from time to time. Tonight Kathy, who is a former naval aviator and no stranger to deployments, recorded a message for Blair. "We're having so much fun . Come home soon, but not too soon!" she teased.

March 7

The kids were finally in bed and Kathy and I were unwinding after a busy day.

Suddenly, Blair's voice filled the kitchen. "Hello, Jenny. It's Blair, I just called to say I'm doing fine and I miss you... ."

My jaw dropped as I realized that the phone battery was dead again, and Blair was talking to the answering machine. "Get it. Get it!" my sister yelled.

I sprinted upstairs and leapt over sleeping children to snatch the other phone off the hook. "I'm here – don't hang up!" Although Blair sounded like he was underwater, it was a relief to hear his voice. And like me, he wanted more information – particularly about our kids. He asked me to send a letter each day, even if was only a Post-it note. A few letters and one package had arrived so far, and it relayed that Ho Hos can do a number on a digestive system exclusively accustomed to MREs. I told him about our son's first tooth, our daughter's meltdowns and the latest reports about the possible war. We laughed together about his dismal living conditions and promised to keep positive.

Later, my sister praised my athletic dash to the phone. "Thank God you answered in time. Otherwise, you would have been blubbering all night," she said. I think I'll buy a more reliable phone tomorrow.

March 11

Before Blair left, he recorded messages for events he knew he would miss.

My daughter turned 2 this week, and as I said her bedtime prayers, I remembered his birthday message. I found it and watched her beam as he sang "Happy Birthday" and congratulated her on turning 2. We listened to it over and over again, and she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

I stole a rare quiet moment to write a letter to Blair. Alas, my 4-year old nephew spotted me, and requested that I read the letter to him. Much to his delight, I embellished it with stories about him.

"Do you want me to write a message to Uncle Blair from you?" I asked when I finished.

"Yes," he said, "but I'll need to think first."

He looked at the ceiling for a while and then said, "How about, 'Have good luck, and I hope that that president stops making guns.' "

All I could say was, "Me, too, little buddy. Me, too."