When Joy Is Loud and Love Is Tired

I didn’t have the energy to write every detail of this day when it ended. Not because it wasn’t meaningful—but because it was heavy. The kind of heaviness that comes from loving many people at once, across different ages, limits, and needs.

This was a day of noise and movement, of laughter and exhaustion. A day that reminded me how faith in everyday family life isn’t formed in quiet retreats alone, but in the middle of chaos, compromise, and unfinished routines.

Aging and Awareness

I woke up to Mami Lu’s complaints. She hadn’t slept. Papa hadn’t either. Before the house fully stirred, they were already preparing to leave and go home.

Something settled in my chest—not annoyance, but awareness. They are older now. What feels like manageable disorder to me already feels overwhelming to them. Sleepless nights, sudden schedule changes, small inconveniences—these weigh heavier when the body no longer recovers easily.

This is part of navigating aging parents—recognizing that love now looks different. They were once as lively as I am now, but time has changed the terms. Even irritation comes faster, not because they are difficult, but because their reserves are lower.

There was guilt too. Maybe I shouldn’t invite them anymore to gatherings like this, even when they insist. Loving them well might mean protecting them from the chaos I can still endure.

“Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained in the way of righteousness.” — Proverbs 16:31

Laughter and Lessons

As the morning unfolded, stories from the night before filled the kitchen and dining area. Laughter echoed across tiled floors. There was liquor involved—more than usual—but everyone was cared for.

Funny stories surfaced: forgetting room assignments, someone puking on a bed, another throwing up at the sink right outside the accommodation. Aia saw one of those moments.

It was her first time witnessing adults drunk. I could see the confusion in her eyes—how joy turned messy so quickly. I didn’t explain much. I let the moment speak for itself. I hoped that, quietly, it planted a seed that getting drunk isn’t really something to aspire to.

Children learn values not only from what we say, but from what we allow them to see.

Water, People, and Weariness

After breakfast and dessert, we decided to go back to the pool. This time, it felt more relaxed. More friends had arrived. Josh was with my husband, splashing around with his sisters and people from Koro Seraphim.

I stayed close, but I was tired. Really tired.

That night, three of us - Aia, Nina, and I - shared a queen bed. Jesz arrived very late after a three-hour drive. Adjusting positions, waking up repeatedly—it wasn’t restful at all. It was only when my parents left that we finally had space to breathe.

Still, despite the lack of sleep, we pushed through. This is part of parenting through exhaustion—functioning even when your body asks for rest, because your children still need presence.

Games and Chaos

While I hovered near the pool, the rest of the group dove into games. I can’t even remember their names now, but I remember the chaos clearly.

One game involved hooking baskets onto metal loops. Every group member had to succeed for the team to win.

Another required placing straws into bottles—while one eye was closed and the other looked through a cone-shaped paper with a tiny hole. Vision was distorted, movements exaggerated, laughter unstoppable.

There was also dancing inside a garter loop. When the music stopped, whoever was tangled or last to touch the garter was out. Then came the balloon game—four boys with balloons tied to their feet, stomping and dodging until only one remained standing.

These moments reminded me why weekends with extended family and community matter. They’re loud and messy—but they’re alive.

Tantrums and Transitions

Leaving was the hardest part.

Nina and Aia did not want to get out of the pool. It was clear how much they enjoyed the water. But it was already time to go.

We resorted to promises—chips, screen time, anything to move us forward. This is one of those uncomfortable parenting truths: sometimes, to get from Point A to Point B, we use tools. Even the most scrutinized one—screen time.

Used with discernment, it becomes part of children and emotional regulation. Not indulgence, but transition. Not replacement, but support.

Aia had another tantrum on the way. We were already late. Too tired to be as calm as we wanted. And then, suddenly, silence. Both girls were asleep.

That was when I realized—tantrums are often exhaustion in disguise.

“He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” — Isaiah 40:29

No Water, More Surrender

While Jesz attended his Sunday virtual meeting, I stayed with the kids. Then another challenge surfaced—there was still no water service in our area.

We decided to return to my parents’ house again and stay the night. It felt like another disruption, another inconvenience layered onto an already long day.

But I’ve learned that even disruptions can serve healthy family routines in unexpected ways—forcing us to slow down, to adjust, to lean on others.

The reason wasn’t clear yet. But I trusted that clarity would come in time.

Faith in the Noise

The night felt rushed. We couldn’t prepare the kids properly because we needed to attend late-night Mass. Two kids stayed home. We brought Nina because calming her was already difficult.

After Mass, we returned to a grumpy Aia and an overly energetic Josh. Broken routines always show themselves. We washed bodies, brushed feet, cleaned faces—even though it was already past bedtime.

Then we gathered for Hallow Time as a family, despite protests and noise.

In that moment, I realized something deeply comforting: God doesn’t wait for perfect conditions. He meets us where we are.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted.” — Psalm 34:18

I believe He was glad we invited Him into the chaos.

Exhausted but Fulfilled

This day was loud. Imperfect. Exhausting.

But it was real. Full of love stretched thin and grace stretched wide. A reminder that faith in everyday family life is not about order—it’s about presence.

And tonight, that was enough.