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Parenting
My Brady Bunch (Without the House) by Sarah Collins
Updated: Dec. 26, 2015
Originally Published: Jan. 20, 2015
It turned out that Lila needed braces. The eldest girl had a date for the dance, and everything was perfectly organized. But then, out of nowhere, chaos ensued. Thankfully, things always have a way of resolving in the end. Our kids became instantly captivated by the series and were so engrossed in the storyline that we found it hard to believe. Our family of six resides in a space that feels too compact to host the exuberance of two rambunctious boys, now ages 9 and 10, while the girls, both 8, hardly make a sound. At the risk of sounding biased, they are practically the ideal children—rational and kind, at least for the time being. They dress themselves and bathe on request, unlike their brothers, who transform our one functional shower into a chaotic scene reminiscent of a movie set gone awry.
Our home can be described as a delightful whirlwind—a constant flurry of noise and demands. I glide around, picking up toys, socks, random bits of paper, tissues, and books, nurturing them like a feedbag strapped to a horse, while simultaneously gathering the remnants they leave behind. I create piles and sort items into bins. Bins = False Sense of Hope, but losing faith in bins leads to exhausting trips to furniture stores for replacements, which feel like tiny deaths of the soul. We strive for systems to tame the mess and the crumbs that accumulate around furniture. And some of those crumbs? They’re practically meals that have been discarded. What’s this? A petrified Yogurt Burst Cheerio? I pry it off the floor with a credit card.
There are methods to keep the four of them in one place and still for a moment. Sometimes we need to contain them to prepare 20 different snacks daily and cook proper meals for them. We also need to map out our next plans (always for them) and sneak in some couple time (for us). We have books, endless art supplies, sports equipment, a pottery wheel, a basketball hoop, movies, treats, and the occasional bribe. The boys would argue that The Xbox is a prime distraction. I despise video games for the way they affect my son’s attention span and cognitive function, and I do everything I can to limit their use. My son views me as a relic of the past, missing the essence of life. My husband’s son, an avid gamer, finds my stance absurd but remains amicable, evaluating me like some archaic artisan. “You’ll appreciate this someday,” I plead. “You’ll remember this limitation as endearing, as something that shaped your developing mind.” They exchange knowing glances, fully united in their critique of my parenting.
I often find myself questioning: Is this truly my family’s reality? Engaging in device negotiations with two stubborn boys who are mastering logic and their bodily functions? This is a debate that many parents have, yet I thought I might be spared due to my old-fashioned tendencies. “Hello, little tyrants: Do you see our landline on the table? It has an outgoing voicemail in a foreign language because I can’t figure out how to change it?” I worry about earbuds (tinnitus), and touch screens (digital maladies), fearing they will lead to our demise. Why do I struggle so much to make them understand my point of view? The answer lies in their proclivity for crude humor and their recent fascination with calling milk “moo juice.” Recognizing this vast difference in perspectives doesn’t help. Didn’t they realize I had envisioned a more interesting family dynamic than this? Apparently not.
Reflecting on my childhood and the tumultuous changes in my life—divorce, new love, and the responsibility of caring for four kids—brought me back to the Brady Bunch. I felt a pang of nostalgia for my younger self, unaware that my adult life would echo that patched-together family. A box set of the series arrived at our doorstep, a perfect solution that captivated all four of them instantly. The Bradys always made it right. Mike and Carol fixed problems, and so did Greg, Marcia, Jan, Peter, Bobby, and Cindy. Let’s be real—Alice fixed everything. That magical house of theirs contained a world I yearned for. I could visualize every carpeted corner—the double front doors, the sunlit patio, and the coveted Jack-and-Jill bathroom! Oh, how I longed for one of those as a child—such a civilized yet thrilling experience. What if you forgot to lock both doors? Each trip to the bathroom became an adventure. I spent countless hours mesmerized by the whimsical, vibrant world of the Bradys.
I remember feeling moments of melancholy during the early years of watching the show—my childhood marred by my parents’ divorce. My family was forever changed, and I began to evolve into a more complex and sensitive version of myself. Watching those uninterrupted episodes provided a sense of solace. I am reminded of my own childhood ambitions when our daughters energetically declare, “I’m Marcia!” “No, I’m her!” followed by, “Okay, you can be her this time, and I’ll be Jan. But next time we switch.” The simple act of confidently declaring, “I’m someone else,” astonishes me. Their crushes fluctuate between the brothers from episode to episode, based on fleeting physical traits—voices cracking, haircuts, braces. They make comments like, “I wish Bobby was my brother. I want to marry him,” and judge based on humor. The funniest brother wins their affection, which fills me with pride. The boys would never reveal their favorite Brady, but the joy on their faces is unmistakable. It’s reminiscent of their expressions while gaming, but with an innocent twist.
We own the entire series, realizing that watching them devour each episode necessitated a complete collection. It’s housed in a vibrant, lime-green box that looks like it belongs on a retro carpet. The episode summaries ignite their anticipation. They can’t wait for the Hawaiian tiki episode. “There’s a hairy tarantula!” I mention, eliciting squeals of delight. They share my desire for Alice to live with us—life would be much brighter that way. They ask how Mike and Carol met; we have no idea. They inquire about the previous marriages that brought the three girls and three boys together. Mike’s first wife is no longer in the picture, while Carol’s past remains enigmatic. Did she have a deadbeat dad? A long absence? Carol keeps her secrets close.
It’s easy to recall the aspirations ignited by the show. I longed for the same happiness they portrayed. The family, formed through non-traditional means, had hints of struggles in their backstory, but now they were united—happy and safe, the Real Deal. They were a testament to transformation. I liked the idea of a Before that faded away, leaving only an After. I see my children experiencing that same comfort when they watch. Only once or twice have they acknowledged the show’s era. I observe them huddled together on our couch, their little legs tangled beneath a blanket that’s far too small, letting the echoes of this fictional family wash over them. Amid casual references to outdated norms and nostalgic elements, I see them extract meaning from the humor, sibling bonds, and the desire to recreate a secure home life. Everything can be just fine. Everything will be fine. Whether it’s the Bradys’ story or mine, it’s a narrative I cherish.
I understand why they adore this series, and it mirrors the reasons I fell in love with it decades ago. If I weren’t concerned about breaking the magic of their rare, shared contentment, I’d tell them: “See? We’ve had our before moments too. We’ve faced challenges, some less than perfect, and our family carries stories that aren’t as shiny as this one. But look at us, crowded and chaotic, with two boys and two girls, a woman and a man—each of us marked by life’s battles but filled with love. Here we are, becoming.”
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Summary
This article explores the chaos and joy of raising a blended family while drawing parallels to the beloved sitcom, The Brady Bunch. The author reflects on childhood nostalgia, the challenges of modern parenting, and the comfort found in fictional family dynamics. As the children engage with the show, they discover themes of love, loyalty, and resilience that resonate deeply with their own lives.
Keyphrase: blended family dynamics
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