Empty nesting feels a lot like living in Fraggle Rock—we wander around the house, talk to inanimate objects (mostly the dog), and occasionally burst into song for no reason. The kids are grown, the laundry has slowed to a suspicious trickle, and our nightly conversations now include important topics like: “Is this meat still good?” and “Do you want to watch West Wing again?”
So when I saw Fraggle Rock Live was coming to town, I figured: why not lean all the way in? Let’s embrace the weird. Let’s go on a date night that would make our kids roll their eyes so hard they see their own brains.
We got tickets expecting a nostalgic throwback—a comfy, retro trip to the days of sugary cereal, My Buddy & Kid Sister dolls, and waiting all week to watch Saturday morning cartoons. Fraggle Rock was one of those shows that lived rent-free in the back of my brain: funky puppets, moral lessons, and a trash heap that handed out surprisingly solid life advice.
But here’s what I didn’t realize: this wasn’t a 70s or 80s baby nostalgia tour. Oh no. This was the rebooted version. Like, full-on Gen Alpha Fraggle Rock. We were approximately 40 years older than the intended audience and very much the only people there without glowsticks or preschoolers. The vibe? Less retro charm, more “preschool EDM rave meets puppet TED Talk.”
There were flashing lights. There were upbeat songs we didn’t recognize. There were tiny humans absolutely losing their minds over a plush Wembley and plush Red while their $10 juice box-holding adults tried to hold it together. And there we were, just two grown adults clapping along with puppets like it’s a completely normal way to spend a Thursday night.
Fun? Absolutely.
Weird? Deeply.
Nostalgic? Not exactly.
I found myself asking questions no one warned me I’d ask on a Thursday night:
Why do Fraggles have the energy of toddlers on espresso? Have they discovered some kind of underground radish-based superfood? Is there a secret Fraggle CrossFit program we’re not seeing offstage? I was tired watching them. If I had that kind of stamina, I wouldn’t just finish the laundry—I’d fold it, put it away, and maybe even iron something for fun.
Who’s funding the Doozers’ never-ending construction projects? Seriously, what’s their budget? They are constantly building tiny scaffolding that no one uses and immediately steps on. Doozer work might be a metaphor for late-stage capitalism, or maybe it’s just a very organized way to burn calories. Either way, I think someone needs to file an OSHA report.
Is the Trash Heap technically a licensed therapist, and can I book her? Because honestly? She had some wisdom I didn’t know I needed. She’s basically a compost pile with better boundaries than most humans. I don’t know how she’s keeping it together emotionally while being made entirely of banana peels and coffee grounds, but I’m impressed. She listens, she advises, she throws in a little sass, and then literally sinks back into the earth like a queen. Give her my insurance card—I’ve got some things to unpack.
But in between the puppet chaos, the glow-in-the-dark dance numbers, and the silent agreement that neither of us knew what was going on, I had a moment. I looked over at my husband, both of us laughing and slightly bewildered, and thought: this is the good stuff. This is what empty nesting actually looks like. Not candlelit dinners or weekly euchre games. It’s showing up to something absurd, fully embracing it, and finding joy in the weirdness, together.
So no, Fraggle Rock Live wasn’t what we expected. It was chaotic, kid-centric, and exactly the kind of wonderfully bizarre night that makes you feel alive in a season that can otherwise feel a little too quiet.
Either way, 10/10, would dance my cares away again (preferably with a beverage stronger than radish juice) and 10/10 would recommend it if a Silly Creature is under 7 years old. The trash heap has spoken. Myeeeeah!
Rachel L. Richard is a small-town farm girl turned suburbanite, a delightfully irreverent optimist, Mrs & Mama, floppy dog ear scratcher, lifelong learner, channel surfer, wanderer, believer, occasional creative, out-of-practice musician, cupcake addict, book devourer, and lover of all people.
