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Parenting
My Brady Bunch (Minus the House)
by Jamie Rivers
Updated: December 26, 2015
Originally Published: January 20, 2015
So, it turns out Marcia needed braces. The eldest of the Brady clan had a dance date lined up, and everything seemed perfect. But, as fate would have it, things took a nosedive, only to be righted again—because with the Bradys, everything always gets fixed! Our kids, glued to the screen, became enraptured by the series, and it was hard to believe how invested they were.
Living in a home that feels far too small for the whirlwind energy of our boys, ages 9 and 10, is a daily adventure. The girls, both 8, are generally quiet and, dare I say, perfect—though I’m sure that perfection is just a fleeting illusion! They manage to dress themselves and take baths when asked, unlike the boys, who create a scene in our cramped shower that resembles a nightly reenactment of a disaster film.
Life here can be chaotic—a whirlwind of noise and endless demands. I constantly trail behind the kids, collecting toys, socks, random scraps of paper, and the occasional book. It’s like I’m equipped with a feedbag, providing for their needs while gathering the remnants they leave behind. I sort and organize, believing that bins will somehow restore order, but I’ve learned that the hope they offer often leads to disheartening trips to IKEA. Oh, the tiny deaths of the soul those trips can bring! We strive to find systems that will tame the chaos, but crumbs often reign supreme—some of which aren’t even crumbs, just remnants of meals that fell to the floor. What’s this? A petrified Yogurt Burst Cheerio? I carefully scrape it off the floor with a credit card.
We’ve found ways to corral the kids when necessary, so we can whip up twenty different snacks a day, prepare proper meals, and even make time for each other. It’s a juggling act filled with books, art projects, sports equipment, and the occasional bribe. The boys, naturally, would argue that the Wii is the ultimate distraction. I, on the other hand, have a disdain for video games and the way they affect my son’s brain. My son thinks I’m stuck in the past, missing out on the true essence of living. Meanwhile, my husband’s son, a die-hard gamer, looks at me as if I were some relic from an earlier time. I try to explain that they’ll appreciate these restrictions one day, but they just roll their eyes, united in their judgment of my “outdated” parenting approach.
I often find myself questioning how we ended up in this situation—negotiating device time with two stubborn boys who are mastering the art of reasoning and humor. I never expected to face these battles, given my vintage sensibilities. “Hey, little tyrants,” I want to say, “Do you see our landline over there? And that voicemail in Spanglish because I can’t change it?” I fear earbuds (tinnitus), worry about touchscreens (digital maladies), and a host of other things that might lead to our eventual demise. Why can’t they see my point of view? I suppose it’s because they’re too busy perfecting their belch-offs and discussing “milkers.” But understanding our differing perspectives doesn’t bridge the gap. They simply can’t fathom that I envisioned us as a more interesting family than we appear. Alas, they don’t see it, and maybe we aren’t.
Reflecting on my own childhood, especially the way my life has morphed (thanks to a tumultuous divorce, a wild new romance, and four kids), has often brought me back to the Brady Bunch. I sympathize with my younger self, unaware of how my adult life would echo the patchwork family dynamics of the Bradys. But relief washed over me when a boxed set arrived on our doorstep: the ultimate distraction that would captivate my kids as much as it once captivated me. The Bradys always fixed things—Mike and Carol, Greg and Marcia, Alice, who seemed to solve everything. That house of theirs, oh, how it fascinated me! Every carpeted corner is etched in my memory, from the sunny patio to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that I longed for as a kid. Every visit to the restroom there seemed like an adventure waiting to happen.
I remember feeling pangs of sadness as a kid while watching the show, grappling with my parents’ divorce and all the complexity that came with it. Yet, those endless episodes, filled with sibling camaraderie, brought me comfort. I see the same reflection in my daughters when they declare, “I’m Marcia!” “No, I’m her!” It’s delightful to watch them embrace that imaginative spirit. Their crushes on the brothers shift based on the latest episode, and they giggle at things like, “I wish Bobby was my brother!” Their laughter fills me with pride.
We own the entire series, neatly packaged in a vibrant green box reminiscent of shag carpets. They eagerly flip through the synopses, excited for episodes about tiki adventures and hairy tarantulas. They wish Alice could live in our kitchen, making our lives infinitely better. And of course, Sam-the-Butcher would be a welcome addition, too! They ask about Mike and Carol’s backstories, and I can only shrug. “We don’t know,” I say, pondering their mysterious pasts.
The show stirs a sense of aspiration in me. I adored that the Brady family was formed differently, hinting at past struggles but ultimately showcasing a happy, safe home. They became a family that thrived in the present. I see my kids absorbing these elements, only occasionally remembering the show is from another era. I watch them nestled together on our couch, legs intertwined under a tiny blanket, soaking in the lessons from this mid-century fiction. Amid the humorous sibling rivalries and heartwarming loyalty, they grasp the essence of a safe, loving home. Everything can be okay. Everything will be okay. Whether it’s the Bradys’ story or my own, it’s a comforting narrative.
I understand why my kids adore the show; it mirrors the reasons I loved it thirty years ago. If I weren’t worried about breaking their rare moment of blissful harmony, I would tell them, “Look! We have our own ‘befores’ in our family. We’ve faced challenges, but here we are—two boys, two girls, a lady and a gentleman—all a little battle-worn but completely in love. This is us, too. We’re becoming.”
In summary
The joys and chaos of family life often echo the nostalgia of shows like the Brady Bunch. Through challenges and laughter, our unique family narrative unfolds, reminding us that happiness can be found in the most unexpected places.