To Be as a Child

A Bluey Review

What a time to be a parent of young children—an era of digital calendars, grocery pickup, and, mostly notably, Bluey. A show technically created for children, the open secret is that the animated Australian juggernaut is made as much for the parents as it is for the kids. Any time a new set of seven-minute episodes drops, parent text chains around the globe light up:

“Have you seen the new Bluey episodes?”

“We’re watching as a family tonight!”

“My favorite episode was ‘Onesies’!”

“Oh, I loved that one. ‘Granny Mobile’ was hilarious!”

The particular magic of Bluey has been explored in everything from newspaper op-eds to internet rap battles to YouTube channels dedicated to mining for Easter eggs, and I wonder if I have anything new to say about this pinnacle of children’s entertainment. And yet, I can’t stop myself from indulging in my own existential Bluey musings here.

My sister told me about Bluey back in 2020. She explained it simply as a show about a family of dogs living in Australia with short episodes that didn’t push parents’ sanity (ahem, Cocomelon, Calliou, even Daniel Tiger). My children were hooked almost immediately despite their age range (and even now that my oldest two kids are twelve and eight, they still will sit down to watch Bluey with the five-year-old). Though it took me a bit to recognize the magic the show held for parents like me, in the thick of balancing work schedules, managing sibling spats, and following through on the daily tidy, I was soon pausing the dishes and settling on the couch with my kids as the upbeat Bluey theme played.

“Fruit Bat” was the first episode to pull me in, a story that explores the versions of themselves parents have to momentarily release in favor of who they need to be for their kids. Yes! I thought. There’s always a person behind the parent. But the enchantment of the episode lies in the way Bandit and Chilli (the canine heads of house) present this identity shift, sidestepping the oft-perceived loss of self and leaning rather into the yin and yang of a parental and personal evolution, reframing and softening the unique grief it takes to become a parent.

In “Duck Cake” we see Bandit’s mounting frustration as he bounces back and forth between cajoling Bluey to pick up her toys and making a complicated birthday cake for his youngest daughter, Bingo. Bandit’s eventual near abandonment of the duck cake is so authentic to my own lived experience (I have literally sunk to the kitchen floor in frustrated and overwhelmed tears) that I want to reach through the screen and give Bandit a hug. But let the show keep playing, and you see Bluey quietly help her dad clean up a baking mess and realize that helping others can feel good (and make your tail wag). Each episode of Bluey manages to achieve this tenderness while also deftly avoiding the saccharine. 

Every canine cast member from Lucky’s dad, Pat (though he’s almost exclusively referred to as “Lucky’s Dad”) to Muffin, the precocious and overbearing younger cousin, exhibits their own unique blend of virtues and flaws. Over the course of 150-odd episodes, we see countless configurations of interpersonal dynamics play out, from schoolmate squabbles to adult brotherly competition to finding creative ways to include everyone. In these seven-minute segments the viewer bears witness to a communal ecosystem where everyone matters and is known. It’s as close a representation of Zion as I’ve seen anywhere.

Of all the episodes, though, “Stickbird” gets me every time. The Heeler family is enjoying a beach vacation, though Bandit is clearly bothered by something. He’s distracted and doleful, pulled out of a reverie by Chilli, who urges him to play with Bingo. So we see Bandit summon a smile and play in the sand with his child, but when Bingo runs off, the smile falters and Bandit sighs with the weight of whatever it is he carries. This particular episode expertly captures the ever-present tension between parenthood and personhood, when sometimes you have to fake it for your kids even when your heart aches. We never find out what was on Bandit’s heart and mind that day, yet we can’t help but resonate with his heavy melancholy contrasted with the desire we have to create joy for our kids.

Bluey manages to teach simple truth without condescension, didacticism, or melodramatic hyperbole. Each episode is a modern parable in the shared experiment of living and loving well. This show isn’t just about a family of blue heelers; it’s a childlike artform—the beauty found in its understated and warm simplicity—that allows the parents watching to see themselves both as they are and the way they want to be. Families intuitively gather to watch and laugh (and if you’re a sentimental grown-up like myself, almost certainly cry), and in my more contemplative moments I can’t help but wonder if the children who once sat at the feet of the Savior instinctively pulled their parents in with them, inviting them to lean into childlike learning and living.

Whatever the ancient equivalent of text chains were, I wonder if parents lining the streets of Jerusalem passed messages about the parables that pricked their hearts and made them stay for just one more. Maybe the grandmother wept at the widow and her mite because she felt seen for the first time in a long time. And the story of the Samaritan inspired the men in the neighborhood to be a little kinder and judge others a little less. I wonder what about the parable of the soil made a mother’s heart turn a little more to Jesus.

And the truth is that, for me, Bluey does turn me to Jesus, at least by nudges. (My oldest, when he saw me scribbling out the bones of this essay on the soccer sidelines said, “I guess Bluey does have a kind of Jesus vibe.”) The pure representation of childlike living—as opposed to childish antics—inspires a more gentle way of interacting with myself and my family. I couldn’t excise Bluey from my mind and heart even if I wanted to, because when I watch this simple show, I feel intimately and tenderly seen in the Heeler family. I am safe in that cozy Brisbane home, safe to feel sad, mess up, and enjoy childlike fun.

Bluey succeeds in meeting parents at the intersection of commiseration and aspiration, letting us feel seen and known in our mess and frustrations, while in the next frame gently showing us what we’re capable of doing and being as people, parents, and friends. And isn’t that the good news of the gospel, the miracle of grace? That Jesus Christ will meet us exactly where we are while also showing us a better and happier way, empowering us to choose the good part and become new creatures in Him.

So when I try to channel Bandit’s playfulness and Chilli’s calm adaptability, I see how small and simple steps might refine me into a kinder, more patient disciple. As I practice this childlike living—and Bluey is perhaps the most poignant childlike exhibition I’ll ever see—the world grows a little softer, a little more magical, a little more like heaven.

Charlotte Wilson is an editor and writer running a small business between school pickups. She lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest, loves watching shows late at night with her husband, and ignores the laundry piles in favor of a good book.

Art by Rosalia Jardine.

Audio produced by BYUradio.