Army Spec. Dexter Williams grew accustomed to war. He wasn't ready for life back home.

"I drive over potholes on the roads here and I think of the explosives," said Williams, of Newark.

Most of his Teaneck-based Army National Guard comrades have been home for weeks. But every day is still a battle. What was once ordinary is now a hassle - caring for the kids, paying the bills, buying holiday gifts.

"It's difficult, but it's just something we have to get through," said Spec. Harry Vanvliet, 37, of Maywood.

Nine hundred soldiers from the 50th Main Support Battalion were gone for a year. About 100 remain in the Middle East and may not return until after Christmas.

For a year, the soldiers watched mortars fly over their heads. They drove desert roads as bombs exploded near their trucks. In the summer, they sweated through 130-degree heat.

They've lost two friends from their unit. In June, a bomb killed Army Sgt. Manny Hornedo of Brooklyn. Sgt. John Branick, 54, of Wallington died Saturday of an aneurysm. He returned from Iraq in November.

While away, the soldiers' children grew up. Birthdays and holidays passed.

"Everything's changed," said Tawanda Spencer of Paterson, wife of Spec. Samuel Spencer, 30. "We've been living and breathing a different way. I've grown a little bit stronger."

Balancing it all can be overwhelming, mental health professionals say. The stress can make the soldiers withdraw, or worse. Deep-seated anger and resentment could evolve into post-traumatic stress disorder.

"The biggest problem with veterans is that the experience is too painful and their intensity level is too high, so they don't communicate," said Russell J. Kormann, associate director of the PTSD Program at Rutgers University. "That's the last thing they should do."

The family support center at the Teaneck Armory has been busy. Soldiers want to know: Can I go back to work? Where can I get financial assistance?

"They're struggling," said Master Sgt. Minnie Hiller, the unit's family support coordinator. "So many soldiers are having a hard time starting life over."

Actually, getting home was the toughest part, the soldiers say. Their flights out of Iraq typically were delayed. Once in the air, the trip would take 16 hours or longer. The planes made stops in Kuwait, Germany, Iceland, Hungary, Maine and elsewhere before landing near Fort Dix.

Since October, groups of 100 to 350 have arrived twice a month, sometimes in the middle of the night. If their families are waiting for them, it's a treat.

"My 7-year-old boy and 4-year-old girl were there. It was a shock," said Spencer, who arrived at 2 a.m. on Oct. 4. "They were freaking out. They jumped all over me."

A group of 100 arrived Dec. 11. They were happy to be home for the holidays. But they were scared, too.

"It was, like, this overall intense feeling that I felt. I missed [my fiancée]," said Williams, 35, "but I wasn't ready to see her at that moment."

Waiting for Vanvliet in a gymnasium at Fort Dix, his wife, two young sons and teenage daughter wondered aloud: Did he change?

"I hear the whole thing makes them tough," said 17-year-old Jessica Vanvliet. "I just like him soft and fuzzy."

Jessica got her wish: At 9:30 p.m., her father entered the gym, locked his arms around his family and squeezed. Then he kissed his wife, over and over.

During the Vietnam War, many returning soldiers felt shunned. This time, many knew what to expect.

They've met with officers who warned them: Hugs may be hard. Kids may run away from you. Spouses may lose patience easily. But the love is still there.

While her husband was away, Tawanda Spencer gained more control of her life and family. Though she's nearing 30, she finally got her driver's license.

When her husband returned, they clashed over tasks that had been part of her daily routine.

"[The children's] bedtime was 8 p.m., and he was, like, 'Oh, they could stay up for a little bit,' and I was, like, 'No.' But then I was, like, 'Whatever,'Ÿ" she said. "What's the use of arguing over something like that?"

As part-time National Guard members, most of the returned soldiers have full-time careers. Merchants who shut down their businesses while deployed suffered the most, Hiller said. "I have guys who really took a beating," she said.

A few don't plan to return to their previous jobs.

Maj. Michael Lyons, 41, of Glen Rock is ready to start a full-time administrative position at Fort Dix in January. Lyons likes the idea of starting a new job and not returning to the battlefield.

"I'm ready for something different," he said.

Some of the soldiers have stayed home and slept, too tired to turn on the TV. Others have squeezed in holiday shopping or buying a Christmas tree.

When Vanvliet arrived at Fort Dix, his 11-month-old son, Chris, shyly resisted a kiss from his father. Since then, however, he has acted as if his dad had never left.

Even when he's red-eyed and droopy, Vanvliet stays awake to play with Chris and his 2-year-old brother, Nick. He's making up for lost time.

"His eating patterns are off. His sleeping patterns are off. But I think he's forcing himself to play with the kids," said Vanvliet's wife, Laura.

Some soldiers think it's all a dream. They expect to wake up and find themselves back in Iraq. They also keep their distance, avoiding family disputes unless they have to intervene.

"I'm a visitor here until I get settled in," Vanvliet said.

Driving has also been difficult. In Iraq, soldiers raced at 70 to 100 mph, trying to avoid an ambush or explosion.

When he's behind the wheel, Williams flashes back to Baghdad. He remembers looking for bombs inside parked cars, hoping they wouldn't explode.

His fiancée, Khandi Bethea, will look over and ask, "What's wrong?"

"He still doesn't drive for more than two minutes," she said. "He'll say, 'You can take it now.'Ÿ"

Williams likes to look at his computer, browsing through his photographs from Iraq. Or he plays with his 18-month-old foster child, whom he first met when he came home in October.

His fiancée likes to talk. Or go Christmas shopping. Or hang Christmas decorations all over their apartment.

Bethea likes to "get cuddly." Williams can't.

"When I first came home, she tried to give me space," Williams said. "But she was away from me for so long, it didn't work. She had to be with me everywhere I went."

Sometimes it's too much.

"I have less patience now," Williams said. "She'll say, 'You just snapped at me and I'll say, 'No I didn't.' And she'll say, 'Yes, you did.'Ÿ"

In Iraq, the Army didn't supply armor for some vehicles and equipment. As a mechanic, Williams carried 100-pound pieces of steel and helped install them himself. Now he has a back problem.

Williams needs time to heal. But there was Christmas shopping to do. And he and Bethea are trying to adopt their foster child.

Bethea has Behcet's Syndrome, a condition in which inflamed vessels impede blood flow. When she's stressed, she feels joint stiffness. She also sometimes has nausea, a side effect of her medication.

She's supposed to take as many as 10 pills a week for it. She also undergoes chemotherapy.

Lately, however, she has felt great and hasn't taken her medication in weeks. She'll take the toddler and leave Williams alone for the afternoon. Just having him home is important, she says.

But they also get to spend important time together. Just before Christmas, the couple flew to Seattle to visit Williams' son, whom he hadn't seen in years.

Every now and then, Bethea will feel her man's face with her hands. It feels good.

"Are you here, baby?" she'll ask him. "Are you here?"