March 27

This week, a sandstorm, rain and ambushes along the supply line slowed the progress of Marines on the front line. After the frantic pace of the first four days of the war, I welcomed this chance to step back and take a deep breath.

Nothing could have prepared me for the early days of the war. The first morning, I awoke to frenzied news coverage, casualties in my husband's unit, and an onslaught of calls from worried spouses and family members.

As the days progressed, the news seemed increasingly grim, and I struggled to keep my fears and doubt at bay.

By last Sunday morning, my attempts crumbled. The moment I stepped into church, I knew it was a losing battle, and silent tears streamed down my face throughout the entire service. Driving home, I caught a glimpse of my puffy eyes and red nose in the rear-view mirror, and knew I had to regain control. I needed some strategies for coping with the fact that my husband was in combat a half a world away.

At about that time, those magnificent winds began whipping in the desert, and the race for Baghdad slowed to a crawl. I told my friend, "Thank God for sandstorms," and she wholeheartedly agreed.

My first strategy was to accept offers of help. Later that day, when a friend asked if I could use a baby sitter, I said yes. When another friend just happened to have an extra casserole, I said yes. When my Dad asked if he should visit, I said glory hallelujah, yes.

Next, I turned off the TV and asked family members not to call with "breaking news." I'll read the newspaper in the morning and catch 20 minutes of TV before bed. If I want to study Operation Iraqi Freedom, I'll buy the book when it's over.

I tore myself away from the phone and forced myself back into my normal routine. My father flew in, and we swept open the blinds and let the sunlight in. I caught up on laundry and cleaning, resumed exercising and hit the sack early.

The fighting in Iraq continues, albeit at a slower pace. Soon, the fight for Baghdad will begin, and my methods will be put to the test.

It's clear that my real enemy is fear, and I'll face it every day until Blair returns. Fear is sneaky, and I suspect it will creep up on me when I least expect it. Each morning, I'll have to choose to beat it by getting outside, saying my prayers and remaining positive. The alternative, being a walking basket case, is just not an option.