His ship left in June and comes home in December. That's why I finally had time to make this web page. Ha ha. No, really, I made it because when I was a brand-new Navy wife at 22 I would have given anything for somebody to just tell me how it works, and nobody did, and I had to figure it all out the hard way. So here is the hard way, written down, so maybe yours is a little easier.

The paper chain. Before he leaves, the kids and I make a paper chain out of construction paper, one link for every day he'll be gone. We hang it around the kitchen doorway. Every night after dinner the littlest one gets to tear off a link. When the chain gets short enough that the 3-year-old can reach it standing on a chair, you know you're almost there. It sounds silly. It is the single most useful thing I have ever done on a deployment. The kids can see it getting shorter. So can I.

Write down the date he left and stop counting. Instead of counting days, count things. "Daddy will be home after Halloween, after Thanksgiving, and after your birthday." Kids understand that. So do I.

Get a routine and stick to it like glue. Same bedtime, same dinner time, same Saturday morning pancakes. Especially the first two weeks and the last two weeks, which are the worst. (Everybody says the middle is the worst. For me the middle is fine. It's the beginning, when the house is too quiet, and the end, when you're so close you can taste it, that get me.)

Daddy Doll. I don't know who thought of this but bless her. A picture of him, blown up at the copy shop, glued to cardboard and cut out. The 3-year-old carries it around and sets it at the dinner table. Sometimes it goes in the bathtub. It's held up okay with packing tape.

The video. Before he leaves we have him read the kids' favorite bedtime books into the camcorder. Tape's in the VCR about four nights a week. Yes, I have seen Goodnight Moon read by my husband approximately 300 times. It's fine.

Let the phone calls be short and bad. When the ship pulls into port he gets in a line to call home. The line is long, the connection is terrible, there's a delay so you keep talking over each other, and somebody's always crying (usually the 6-year-old, sometimes me). You will hang up feeling worse than before he called. That's normal. Write it all in a letter instead; letters are better. E-mail is coming to some ships now and I hear it's wonderful, but we're not there yet.

1. The PCS Binder. A three-ring binder with plastic sleeves. In it goes EVERYTHING: the orders (five copies), the kids' birth certificates and shot records, school records, the dog's shot records, marriage certificate, the car titles, the inventory list from the movers, the household goods weight ticket, receipts for anything you're going to claim, the phone numbers for the housing office at the new base, and the lease or paperwork from the old place. The binder rides in the car with you. Never, ever in the moving truck. It sits on the front seat like a fourth child.

2. Label rooms, not boxes. This is my best tip. The movers will write "MISC" and "KITCHEN" on every box, which is useless. Instead, before they arrive, I tape a colored sheet of paper to every doorway in the old house: red for kitchen, blue for the master bedroom, green for the kids' room, and so on. As the movers pack, I stick a matching colored dot sticker on every box that comes out of that room (I buy those little round garage-sale stickers at the drugstore). At the new house, I tape the same colored sheets on the new doorways. The movers don't have to ask where anything goes; they match the dots. It has saved me hours every single move.

3. The "first night" box. Pack it yourself, carry it in the car. Sheets for every bed, towels, shower curtain and rings, toilet paper, a shower curtain again because you'll forget it, paper plates, a coffee maker and coffee, the kids' favorite stuffed animals, a night light, a flashlight, the dog's bowl, a can opener, and a bottle of wine for after the kids are asleep.

4. Take pictures of the electronics before they're unplugged. The back of the VCR and the stereo. You will not remember which cable goes where. Ask me how I know.

5. Keep a "damaged" list as you unpack, with the box number, what it was, and what it looked like. You have a limited time to file a claim and if you don't write it down you'll forget until it's too late.

6. Get the kids' school records hand-carried. Don't count on the old school mailing them. Every school district does things differently, and you'll spend the first week explaining that yes, your 9-year-old really has been to four schools.

• Go to the command's family functions even if you don't feel like it. Especially the pre-deployment briefing. Every woman in that room is about to be in the same boat as you (sorry). That's where I met my two best friends from this tour.
• Say yes to the first three invitations. Coffee, the spouse club, a Tupperware party, a Bible study, whatever. Even if it's not your thing. You can quit later; you just need to meet people first.
• The wives who've been here longest know everything. Which pediatrician, which dry cleaner won't lose the uniforms, which elementary school is good, which commissary line moves. Find one and ask. They love to be asked.
• The playground on base at 10 a.m. If you have small kids, this is where the other wives with small kids are. Bring an extra juice box. Instant friend.
• Don't only make Navy friends. A neighbor who isn't military, somebody from church, the other moms at the library story hour. When the whole ship deploys, all your Navy friends are sad at the same time you are. Civilian friends are a break from it.
• Be the one who invites. Somebody has to. Might as well be you. A pot of chili and a deck of cards on a Friday night during deployment is worth more than you'd think.

What she can do: pass along official news from the ship (when it's coming home, port visits, if the schedule changes), tell you who to call for what (housing, medical, pay problems, legal), get an emergency message to the ship through the right channels if something happens at home, and put out the family newsletter. What she can't do: fix your marriage, find out why your husband hasn't written, or tell you things the ship hasn't released.

Get her name and number at the pre-deployment briefing and put it on the refrigerator. Call her with questions before they become problems. And if you can't find her, the Fleet and Family Support Center on base can point you to her, and they also have counselors, classes and a lot of free help that most wives don't know about.

1. Everything breaks the week after the ship leaves. The car, the dryer, the garbage disposal, a tooth. It's a law of nature. Learn to change a tire and keep the number of a good plumber.
2. Homecoming is not like the movies. The pier is crowded, it's raining, the ship is three hours late, the baby has a diaper situation, and when he finally walks down the brow you're both too tired to feel anything until about the next day. Then it hits you. Take the pictures anyway.
3. The first week home is harder than you expect. You've been running the house your way for six months and now there's a large person moving your things and telling the kids "yes" when you'd say "no." Give it two weeks. Be patient with each other. He feels like a guest in his own house.
4. Your kids will be fine. They are tougher than you and they don't know that "normal" families do it differently. Mine think everybody's daddy lives on a boat sometimes.
5. You will become very good at doing things alone. Movies, restaurants, the emergency room at 2 a.m. This is a skill. Be proud of it.
6. Nobody outside the Navy understands and that's okay. When your sister says "I don't know how you do it," the answer is "neither do I, I just do."
7. Your address book will have more crossed-out entries than a phone company's. Buy the kind with the removable pages.
8. Y2K: I've had five people ask if I'm worried about the ship and Y2K. I'm not. I'm worried about whether the kids' school computers will work in January. The Navy has been working on this for years. If you're nervous, ask your ombudsman.
9. The day the deployment ends, you'll already be dreading the next one. Then you'll get over it and go on with your life, because that's what we do.
10. It is worth it. I wouldn't tell you that if it weren't true. I'd tell you to run.