This Is What A Third-Grader Looks Like:

At least, this is what our third-grader looks like. Only to me, she still doesn't look like a third-grader. For some reason, I'm really feeling like crying this morning! When did she get so big and third-grader-y? I tell her quite often that she used to be a tiny baby. And I'll tell you, it really wasn't that long ago. Eight years may seem like a long time in some respects, but when I look at my little third-grader, it seems like the blink of an eye.

Chicken Nugget appeared in my bedroom doorway this morning and announced: "Get up! It's time to get ready for school!" (Now, I do not expect these early-morning announcements to continue.) She dressed herself and popped out of her room, asking, "Well, how do I look?" with that sweet smile of hers.

I told her that she looked great! But inside my heart was breaking. Just like it is now.

She told me she'd feel a lot better if I walked her over to school and helped her get to her place in the gym. Before third grade, she just went to her classroom. But waiting in the gym is a whole new situation. I was happy to help her out, so we walked over to the school and found her teacher. We scouted out the line in which she was to wait until the bell rang. Chicken Nugget sat down quietly, cross-legged, all third-grader-looking, and she put on that same sweet smile. I could tell she was excited, anxious, a bit uncertain, but also ready. I waved to her, and she waved back, and there wasn't much fanfare; she just sat there, waiting to begin her first day as a third-grader, ready for mom to depart the building.

So I left, and now I'm here at home, working on chores, taking care of the little ones, trying to choke down the fact that the little girl who came into the world, all of 6 pounds and 11 and 3/4 ounces, is now a big ol' third-grader. And I'm afraid time's not going to slow down much from here on out.

And the Oscar goes to . . .

Maybe I'm just becoming too cynical, but the Oscars don't excite me like they used to. I remember one year, I even took pictures of the TV screen as it showed certain movie stars and winners! I was crazy! But now, I think I see the value of awards and accolades in a different light. Not that it is bad to award someone for some great achievement, and not that I wasn't thrilled for Jennifer Hudson when I heard that she won (talk about a Cinderella story), but I just . . . think about it in a different way now.

BW and I talk about things like this, about how people that work very hard aren't often compensated in the same way as those who have seemingly easier jobs. Not that I know what goes into making a movie, and I hear it takes hours and hours and working late into the night, but . . . seeing as anyone I've ever heard interviewed can usually take as much time off as they want, rest, always go on a vacation . . . veiwing it from a worldly perspective, compared to how little BW gets for a lot of hard work . . . well, it just doesn't seem fair.

But as I said, the older I've gotten, the more life I've lived, the more I've started to view these things much differently. I understand more and more how gaining the applause of Heaven (so to speak) matters much more than gaining the applause of men. I used to get such a thrill when I was in plays in college, to go out and take my bows and hear all that clapping. Or to say a line and hear a great reaction from the audience. There's something thrilling about that. But there's something just as thrilling these days about having Noodle run into my arms, all grins, and say, "Mamma, you're my best friend."

Or to hear BW laugh out loud when I tell a good joke, or to feel special because he has gone out of his way to do somethin just for me, to let me know that in his world, I am the most important person on the planet.

Or to have Banana give me big, big sugars, all the while saying, "MMMM-mmmm-whah!" and then see him grin a big, big grin.

Or to have Chicken Nugget give me something that she made me at school, as she waits for me to smile and show how happy I am that I got it - that moment means the world to her, I know, because I mean the world to her. And no amount of audiences applauding for me or handing me an award can take the place of that.

What I'd like to do is have my own Oscars, or something like it, and give awards to those people who have really been there for me and have loved me. I'd have to give thousands of them. They'd go something like:

"And the award for the part of the best friend in a dramatic trauma goes to . . . "

"And the award for being a real friend when all others dropped away after I did something really stupid . . ."

"And the award for laughing with me till we were breathless and rolling on the floor . . ."

"And the award for the best husband and kids in the entire world . . . "

"And the award for those who prayed for me every single day . . . "

But those are the things that will never get awards. And they don't have to. They don't need to. It doesn't even matter about awards and applause.

Here's the award that I'm waiting for:

"Well done, thy good and faithful servant . . ."