I come from a large family, and when I was growing up, Cheaper by the Dozen and its sequel, Belles on Their Toes, were a great comfort. They taught that there had been other unusually large families with varying degrees of eccentricity, and that this was not an insurmountable difficulty, and that Irish cooks were excellent targets for caricature.
Being autobiographical, these books treated the various joys and trials of being from an enormous family with maturity and taste. The parents are not comically inept, the children are not a total zoo, and there are no saccharine and inexplicably stupid story lines--Mrs. Gilbreth doesn't go on a book tour for her book about the difficulties of raising a large family and then order extra pillows in her hotel room to represent her children because she misses them so much (What? I know.), because she is busy raising a large family. And is not the worst mother ever.
The books are magical. The trip to Nantucket, the time all the children get sick, when Anne gives herself a bob (!), when Lill gets the roller-skates under her pillow--it's all earnest, sweet gold. If you're going to make an asinine film about Steve Martin and how he has more annoying children than he can handle because he's a moron, please don't sully the Gilbreths' name by calling it Cheaper by the Dozen.