I heard the chaos outside—I often do—but this time it wasn’t the kind born from anger or pain, so I brushed it off. Then came the thumping. Seriously? It was barely 7:45 AM and I was still darting around the house, scrambling to gather backpacks, swim gear, lunchboxes, and all the other essentials for the day. With three kids—an energetic 7-year-old and twin 5-year-olds—it takes multiple trips to load the car. And it takes countless reminders, threats, and my voice at maximum volume to get them to simply put on their shoes and get in the car.
This is our status quo—our daily routine. Unfortunately, given that my family resembles a wild circus, the scene unfolding at the end of the driveway was just as chaotic. The racket? My three kids, armed with old badminton rackets, were pretending to be superheroes, battling a garbage bin they had deemed a monster. It quickly escalated, as it always does. Their shouts of “DIE!” and “POW POW!” echoed, and I must clarify that, while we’re generally a peaceful family, we don’t usually endorse aggressive play with weapons—real or imaginary—around one another.
Before 8:00 AM and my kids were already at the peak of their shenanigans. If I had a bit more patience or a touch of calm irritation, I might have gently asked them to stop, to think of our neighbors, and to please get in the car. But if this is my circus, then I’m the one in charge. Tactful words wouldn’t cut it in this moment, so I opted for a more direct approach:
“STOP IT! Someone’s going to get hurt, and I don’t want to deal with that!” I dodged a racket flying past my head, grabbed one kid, and tossed them into the car. “ENOUGH! Do you think Peter wants to hear this? GET IN THE VAN!” The laughter continued as my rambunctious children dashed in circles.
For context, Peter is our neighbor. Poor guy. While I understand others’ preferences for quieter environments, I also know that our chaos tends to spill into most spaces we occupy. It’s just who we are. And before anyone suggests I need to reform my parenting style, trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve experimented with various techniques, strategies, and systems. The only thing that seems to work is me occasionally losing my cool. I won’t say I’ve fully accepted this, but I’ve stopped fighting it.
In the past, I would feel immense anxiety when taking my kids out or hosting guests, fretting over the volume of their voices. Every utterance seemed to require an exclamation point and a shout. Constantly asking them to lower their volume was exhausting. They never seemed to be able to. It’s as if they were in a competition to be heard, and they are kids, after all. So, we either choose super family-friendly venues or we stay home. When visitors arrive, they either need to learn to tune out my kids or tolerate them as I do.
During our recent flight to visit family, I dreaded the thought of being crammed in a plane with my kids and other passengers. As I wrangled three children, carry-ons, and a much-needed cup of coffee, I somehow lost my ability to care. The kids plugged into their screens but shouted over the volume, demanding snacks and leaving a trail of crumbs. The loud announcements about bathroom breaks were particularly well-timed, usually coinciding with the “no unbuckling” rule. Strangely enough, the other passengers found them amusing; I just found them tiresome. I was also a bit frustrated with my partner, who managed to sleep through most of the chaos, mouth agape.
I could have been kinder, but I insisted she wake up to lend a hand. I didn’t feel guilty, though—snapping at each other is just part of a two-decade-long partnership. It’s about not taking things personally, which is essential in parenting. In the first year with our twins, we established a rule: anything said between midnight and 6:00 AM didn’t count. There was no denying that having three kids under three was a whirlwind, and even now, the kids are older but still as exhausting. Our mutual exasperation often manifests in sighs, eye rolls, and light bickering, and it’s not just at home. Just like our kids, we’re all out there.
A whirlwind of chaos seems to follow us everywhere—spilled ice cream cones, discarded underwear in public restrooms, backpacks stuffed with snacks, water, and extra clothes, and a wagon overflowing with sports gear and fast food. The noise from my usually messy children is just part of our life.
Yet, once I embraced this reality, I started noticing people smiling at us. I could see relief on the faces of other parents, offering words of solidarity. I realized that living life out loud also means living a life filled with loud love. If that’s what makes us a traveling circus, then so be it.
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In summary, my family may resemble a chaotic circus, but I’ve chosen to embrace the noise and love that comes with it, finding joy in our loud and messy moments together.
Keyphrase: family chaos and love
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