I’m upstairs and the kids are downstairs watching “Bluey.” I can tell from the music that it’s the episode called “Sleepytime” in which Bluey’s mom, Chili, tucks in Bluey’s little sister Bingo for the night after reading her a book about the solar system. The story follows Bingo as she falls asleep and hatches out of an Earth-shaped egg shell into a surreal galactic dreamscape. Then the show splits into two points of view: Bingo swimming through space and the rest of the Heeler household (Bluey, Chili, and dad, Bandit) as they struggle to find sleep and stay asleep.
If you, like any reasonable adult who does not have a preschool-aged child in their household, have never heard of “Bluey,” here’s the rundown: “Bluey” is a cartoon on Disney+ about a family of Australian Cattle Dogs who also conveniently live in Australia and eat things like “brekkie” (breakfast) and become indignant when other pups aren’t “playing properly.” Annie now informs me that I’m “not playing properly,” when I’m not playing exactly the way she wants me to, which makes her very difficult to take seriously and also makes me feel a little bit shamed for both not playing “properly” and also not talking fancily. Bluey is 6; her little sister Bingo is 4. They are very imaginative and their parents Bandit and Chili are the type of parents you’d want to be friends with and aspire to be more like as a human. Or an anthropomorphic dog. Or whatever. Also, their house is the coolest. Like, I’ve never watched an animated show in which I’ve coveted the animated furnishings (except for maybe Peppa Pig’s camper van, which could double as a mobile she shed that I could disappear into whenever the members of my household got too loud or demanding), but I would legit Pin-terest their whole house if I could. The second-floor deck? Divine. The mid-century modern light fixture in their living room? The coolest. The alpine-inspired cutouts over the doorways? Whimsical. And don’t even get me started on the the stained glass transoms!
We watch a lot of “Bluey” around here, which is easy to do because each episode is less than 10 minutes long. The show focuses on these pockets of everyday experience. A visit to the local home improvement store (it’s called the Hammerbarn – if you’ve been into a Lowes or a Home Depot, it’s the animated version of that). Waiting for take out (or, “Takeaway,” rather). There’s an entire episode focused on Bluey and Bingo trying not to let a balloon touch the ground for a game called Keepy Uppy. Any episode where Bluey and Bingo pretend to be their Grannie alter egos Rita and Janet is highly amusing.
“Bluey” always leads with imagination, humor, and relatable life situations. And it never shies away from big feelings and tender, earnest humanity (albeit in dog form).
Which brings us back to “Sleepytime,” an episode that perfectly captures the long nights of early parenthood. Here’s an excerpt:
Despite the kids having been tucked in for the night, nobody really gets to sleep. Bluey needs a glass of water. There’s a midnight potty break. There’s a ceaseless back and forth between the kids’ room and the parent’s room. Even when everyone is in a bed, chances are it’s not their own bed. And if it is their own bed, chances are they’re not getting enough covers or there’s too much unwanted physical contact. There’s a fantastic sequence in which Bandit gets evicted from his bed after being pummeled by his unconscious children as they run and skip through their own subconsciouses (subconscious-i?)- Bandit’s body serving as a moon-like surface they bound across. He eventually curls up on the floor, tossing a pair of his own underpants across his shoulders for warmth.
Even though this is my favorite episode of “Bluey,” I don’t go downstairs to watch it. It always makes me cry and it weirds the kids out and anyway I’m too tired for tears right now. Even without watching the actual show, the music (excerpts from Gustav Holst’s “Jupiter,” “Venus” and “Saturn”) brings tears to my eyes. (Before you get too impressed with my knowledge of classical music, know that I had to do some Googling to find out what I was listening to, just like the uninformed peasant that I am).
What is it about “Sleepytime”? Well, the animation for starters; it’s visually beautiful and surreal. The soundtrack is moving, too. A music box lullaby transforming into a rich orchestral soundscape that captures the immensity of Bingo’s dream as she roams the solar system in the company of her stuffed bunny, Floppy. It’s also how it captures moments of playfulness and wonder, but it’s so earnest, too. Like when Bingo gives Floppy her blessing to join her other stuffed bunny kin orbiting Saturn in a super cuddly ring (I know, I know, what the hell? But I am, after all, describing the dream of a cartoon dog). It’s the bravery and loyalty Bingo shows the bunny. How loving something means sometimes having to let it go. How Bingo says goodbye to Floppy knowing she’ll be alone now. How scary that loneliness can be. How Bingo insists she wants to do “a big girl sleep,” waking up in her own bed. I remember being little. How big and dark and cold my bedroom felt. How so many nights I’d drag a sleeping bag next to my parent’s bed just to stave off that loneliness. I remember knowing I had to be more independent. Having to swallow hard and hold my head up and step into the discomfort and uncertainty. The terror and magic of the unknown. A world that is all yours.
Toward the end of the episode, dream Bingo is all alone, shivering on a distant planet. Weeping. And in the real world, Bingo is shivering and whimpering, curled up in her bed, the covers have fallen off.
In the dream, Bingo is at her most vulnerable. Cold and alone. She notices something off in the distance. Something glowing. In her dream she floats toward the orb, which grows bigger and brighter. Bingo moves faster the closer she gets to the mass- pulled by an immense force much bigger than herself. It is the sun: the light, the warmth, the center of Bingo’s universe.
And we hear the sun calling to Bingo, in her mother’s voice: “Remember, I’ll always be here for you, even if you can’t see me, because I love you.”
At the same moment in the Heeler house, Chili hears her younger daughter down the hall and gets out of bed yet again, finds Floppy in the hallway and tucks her in with Bingo.
And even now as I recap, picturing the moment, I feel tears.
I remember the last time I watched “Sleepytime.” One of my oldest friends was visiting. The kids wanted to introduce her to “Bluey” and they knew how much I loved the episode. As she stood in the back of my living room watching it, I sat on the couch sobbing. It was ridiculous that I was the one crying. My friend lost her mother to cancer when we we’re in college. Did she feel her mother’s love the same way Bingo did? Out of sight, but ever present?
I cry watching “Sleepytime” because of how brutal that loss was for my friend. How it still must ache decades later. I cry because I am a mother. And because the last couple years have been really hard. And how I feel like my own children have been left to roam galaxies of disappointment and worry. The older they get, the farther away they feel from me. How I always want them to know I’m here. Ready to comfort and heal.
I’m crying because I’m exhausted. And because of that I’ve erected walls around myself. And there are spikes on those walls. And moats in front of the walls. And a dragon doing dragon-y business circling the perimeter. But despite all those exterior defenses, I still want to be cared for in this giant way. How in my own wanderings I want that cosmic embrace. That reassurance that I am loved by forces both visible and invisible. That it will be OK.
“Sleepytime” makes me cry because of its purity. Its sweetness. Its innocence. Its playfulness. Its mystery and imagination. The caring it gives to a child’s perspective. Holding space for Bingo. Honoring her experience. How our time of being little is just as significant as all the years that come after. In “Sleepytime” the thing that is most valuable, most worthwhile, most needed, is just our presence. Just being in a place in space in time. To get the glass of water. To make space in the bed. To reassure.
“Sleepytime” makes me cry because lately, I’ve been feeling this cold cynicism gathering under my skin and creeping into my bones. All the bad news. The anger, hate, tension, self-righteousness. This feeling that we are inevitably marching toward violence and calamity. That there is no way out. That we as a species cannot be redeemed. This attitude is not one I am comfortable with. It feels counter to my values. To the truths I thought I held about my life and its purpose. But in just 8 minutes, “Sleepytime” gently brushes that away. It focuses on what is most essential: Being here right now. Being the light.
One of Brad’s uncles passed away earlier this month. His funeral was Saturday. Seeing the wrecked faces of Uncle Bill’s kids cracked my heart open. How they were in the room, but seemed worlds away. Each alone in their own galaxies of grief.
After the service, we raised a glass to Uncle Bill, who was always quick to toast himself “To me!” he’d say, his eyes all twinkly, a half smile under his signature mustache. Uncle Bill certainly got a kick out of himself, but the thing is, he also got a kick out of everyone else, too. Whatever room he was in, he’d do circles, checking in with everyone- babies, kids, adults- everyone, offering up observations and non-sequitors, and inquiring after goings ons and perspectives. I think maybe he toasted himself because he knew what was most essential. Being here, right now.
I don’t mean to diminish the gravity of my family’s loss by referencing a child’s television show. But a beautiful story is a beautiful story. And art is art, whether it’s hanging in a gallery or displayed in pixels in my living room. The longer I live on this plane, the more I’ve come to believe that when you follow your tears, you find your truths. The things that move me, teach me the most important lessons, whether it’s a colorful uncle or a cartoon dog:
When you fully inhabit yourself, you are the light that warms other people.
A parent’s love defies all laws of physics.
There is nowhere we can go that love cannot find us.
Love is always here, even if we cannot see it.