R.I.P. Brewster

My heart is broken. Oh, it's been broke many times before, and it will mend itself back slowly. For right now, though, I'm mourning the loss of our beloved dog, Brewster.

We had him since the day he was born, July 13, 1997. His mom, our first dog, Bessie, had 13 puppies that day and overnight. Eight of the puppies survived, and I talked Adam into keeping one of her puppies. We named him Brewster, starting a theme for naming our dogs "B" names, because we wanted something to recognize Cape Cod, where we met and got married, and Brewster was the best name for a dog - thanks, Lauren, for the suggestion.

Brewster was a good dog. There's no two ways about it, he was just a damn good dog. He was humongous, no doubt, but a gentle giant. He wasn't a barker or digger or anything else bad like that. He was loyal and always happy to see us. He was the one dog that actually might have loved me as much as he loved Adam. He showed no preferences and was always happy.

I don't want to go into how it all went down on Friday. I don't want to dwell on his death, because it just doesn't feel like the right thing to do. I want to celebrate his life, and the joy and love he gave to use for almost 12 years.

His presence is very much missed in the Nash house. I still look for him when I come home, or in the mornings. I forget he's not here anymore.

He may not be physically here, but he's forever in my heart. I miss you, Brewster, and I love you. I know you and Bessie will be there in many, many years, when it's my time. Until then, rest in peace big guy.

Because I'm older, and somewhat wiser...

Way back when, about 13 years ago, I was a young Army wife, all of 22 years old. Of course, I knew everything.

I was constantly angry at the Army and at Adam's unit for taking him away from me so much. I didn't know how good I had it at the time, and see other young wives now who remind me a lot of my attitude back then.

But now, I'm settled. Maybe because I'm older or more mature (god willing) or have just gotten more patience with my years, the sometimes impossibly long hours Adam works don't bother me as much.

The main reason is because now that he is in one of the top leadership positions, I know how important the training he's teaching and doing is. I want the many men he works with trained, and trained well. I guess in a way I feel more like a Mother Hen, being an older wife and mom in the company, and every single Soldier is like family.

Addison is almost 10 years old. There's no more making bottles, changing diapers, reading picture books, etc. All of our time together is quality time. I love to go outside and play catch or work on his baseball skills or fly a kite with him. It's much easier now that he's older. We've been very busy with all of his baseball practices and games, so that also makes the time when Adam is not around pass faster, although Addison said yesterday it's no fun without Dad around. Gee, thanks.

I'll still complain about not seeing him, although not as much. Instead of viewing it as a negative thing, I see it as a positive step for both myself and our family-Adam is doing an incredibly hard and rewarding job. I'm always proud to say he's my husband, and Addison is my son.

I'm a lucky girl.

Because I am truly blessed....

I've never been one of those moms who had to let the world know my child had a bowel movement. I loathe those moms. Get a life, I always said, although not having seemingly much of one of my own, I knew better than to be one of those I wanted to kick into next week.

There's no doubt I am blessed. I'm not a religious person, but I do pray to God every night, and every so often, I thank Him, I mean, really thank him, for my beloved son.

One night when I was about six or seven months pregnant, I couldn't sleep, so I went into the nursery and sat in the recliner we had set up. I don't know what overcame me, but suddenly I started crying, and talking to God, asking him to please, please make sure my baby was okay and that everything would be fine.

Wow, did God go above and beyond. Every day I feel like the luckiest mom on the earth. Addison is smart-honor roll, gifted program, etc. He's a good-looking kid-chicks dig him and he was blessed with the light-colored hair and bright blue eyes that apparently skip generations. He's gifted athletically-we're still trying to find a sport he's not instantly awesome at. He's funny-he's got his dad's sense of humor, which, if you know Adam, is one in a million. Okay, two in a million.

I could go on and on but I don't want to be that mom. I know in my heart God truly blessed me that night when I so pleaded with Him. He gave me a child that makes parenting easy. I get the credit so often for what a great kid he is from friends and family, but really, the credit goes to God for sending me one of the best kids ever.

I love you, golden boy!

Because you're killing me...

Dear Boston Red Sox,

You know I love you. I have so much of your team all around me at all times - books, pillows, shirts, shoes, earrings, and even a freakin' tattoo-now that's love. Only you and Adam are lucky enough to be tattooed on me-my true loves.

But, um, hey...

What the f*ck is up with the start to this season? Are you kidding me? As of today, before the 3 p.m. game, your record is a dismal 2-6.

The pitching has been beyond shitty. And your offense? A homer here and there by Youk and Tek (yes, Tek) isn't going to win games. It kind of seems like you're all cocky in recent years. Let's lose that and get back to baseball, the game I love, and the game you love, because if you don't, go home and yell at the TV like I do.

I understand, we still have 150+ games to go. But I am tired and cranky today, because your second and third series of the year happened to be out west. So boys, do me a favor- WIN A FREAKIN' GAME!!!!!!

Because we need to have a word...

Hi Brewster the Dog, it's your mom. We need to have a serious discussion, k?

You're 11 1/2 years old now. I realize you're getting on in years and happen to be deaf as a doornail. I didn't know doornails were deaf but I digress...

I know from your birth until we moved to Savannah you had your own dog door so you could go in and out as you pleased and do your bathroom thing.

Now you don't have a dog door. So that entails ME, yes, ME, getting up in the middle of the night, sometimes several times, to let you out when you give me a courtesy bark. I appreciate that bark, and the fact that you would sooner have your bladder burst than go in the house. You're most definitely a good dog, no doubt.

We need to talk about last night. I heard the courtesy bark at about 1:45 a.m. I got up, opened up the door for you, and then you saw the pouring rain. You backed up and wouldn't go out. Okay, fine. Not 15 minutes later, I was back sleeping, and you barked yet again.

When I came out of my bedroom, you were laying down. I opened the door, and you got up. Ahhh, I thought, he's finally going out! Alas, you backed up yet again.

"Oh hell no, you best get your butt out there buddy," I told you. You obviously didn't think it was funny or you could tell I'm Satan's twin when I'm woken up in the middle of my slumber, because you tried to get away. We did a little dance around the living room until you probably realized it was for the best that you went outside before my head started spinning.

I love you to pieces, Brewster, but you're killing me. I like to sleep through the night, like you like to sleep through the day. Why is it that you're semi-comatose all day, to the point where I have to check to make sure you're breathing several times, but at night it's all about the drinking of the water and the peeing?

I'm glad we had this talk, my dog son. If you can't talk to your dog about this stuff, who will?