I’ve always believed that God gave us Noah to remind me that I am not a perfect parent. In fact, I have heard other mothers say that they thought they were doing just fine until number 3 was born. To quote one friend of mine who has five children, “Adding the third child to the family is the hardest adjustment. All children after that are easy. After a certain point, what difference does one more make?” There is a lot of truth to that.

It’s not that Noah is harder to handle than our other children. He’s just different. He is easily excited. He will give out a very loud, “WOO-HOO!” over the slightest thing. We have had to adjust our parenting accordingly, and that is no simple task. I know I titled this “Paul called it a thorn in the flesh,” but I won’t say that about Noah. He’s not a thorn, nor a messenger of Satan. Rather he is one of the little people God has used to keep me dependent on Him through our parenting adventure. I’m sure you have at least one of those, too.

It is so easy to look at our kids and say, “I’m doing it right,” or, “At least I’m parenting better than so-and-so.” Well, honestly, is there one way to do it right for all of our children? No. No two parenting journeys will look the same, so, Moms, let’s just cut each other some parenting slack.

Back to my point. Noah is the child graciously given by God to keep my nose out of the air and my knees bowed in prayer. I didn’t mean to get all preachy; I want to tell you a funny story.

A couple of weeks ago (during my bloggy break) I took Hannah and Benjamin to audition for our city’s Choir School. They had to meet with the choir director and sing a couple of songs for her. Not having a babysitter at my beck and call, I take all four children with me wherever I go during the day. We filed into the director’s office like a picture out of Make Way for Ducklings. Hannah, Benjamin, and Abbey lined up and introduced themselves to Ms. Director. They shook her hand when she extended hers, answered her questions about their ages, and said, “Thank you,” as she peppered them with compliments.

“Your children are so polite,” she mouthed to me.

Where was Noah? He was hiding in the corner behind my back. As I tried to maneuver away from his face so that I could introduce him at this proud mother moment I was having, he repeatedly jumped behind me to stay out of Ms. Director’s sights.

“Oh, he sure is handsome,” she said, trying to butter him up.

“Well, [phbbt] this is [phbbt] Noah [phbbt],” I tried. “He’s [phbbt] five.”

Though I’m not sure she heard me since Noah was jumping around behind me making loud pooting noises the whole time. Then, he let out an evil cackle and went to hide in the hallway.

“Oh, well,” I laughed.

I doubt very seriously this will become his standard behavior during introductions, so I’m not sending him to charm school…yet. My little messenger did his job that afternoon–he made sure we didn’t leave with my nose in the wrong direction. And for that I am very thankful.