Sunday was a wonderful day in my world, as the third Sunday in June always is for me since I became a Dad four years ago.
We had family over to our new house that we’ve lived in for all of 48 hours now (more on the “fun” of moving in a few hundred words), we met some new neighbors, and all in all, it was fabulous.
Most fabulous of all on Father’s Day, of course, is that in addition to all the love and hugs and cake-eating, my father and I got to tell some terrible Dad jokes. Dad jokes are, of course, corny and ridiculous (“what do you call a pig that knows karate? Pork chop!”) but I love them all the same.
Not sure if this is classified as a “Dad joke” but one of my favorites has always been: “Did you hear about the two antennae who got married? Yeah, the ceremony was OK, but the reception was excellent!”)
Yeah I know, you’re groaning. I laugh every time. Anyway, NPR did a story on Friday about bad Dad jokes on Father’s Day, which is how I got to see this amazing PSA from Australia from 2015, on “Dad Joke Survivors.”
The deadpan look on the faces of these kids is priceless. I salute all of you fellow Dads who tell Dad Jokes, and our poor kids who have to listen to them.
Hey, we’re doing our best.
**Next up today, this isn’t mind-blowing or anything of huge importance but I thought it was really funny. It came to me from the Twitter feed of Petros and Money Show, which I’ve never heard of. But it’s a graphic called “Little League Analytics” and it made me laugh hard.
I was most certainly a right fielder for most of my Little League career, by the way. You get a LOT of time to think out there in right field.
**Finally today, Friday was a traumatic and exciting day in our family, as we officially moved out of our two-bedroom Manhattan apartment and into an actual house with actual separate rooms and closets for all of us. It was thrilling; we’re now surrounded by unopened boxes and I’ve been tired for three straight days, but I know soon things will settle down.
Absolutely stoked about being a suburban father, and I really really hope I’m done moving for a long, long time. Figured out the other day that this was my 15th move since graduating high school in 1993, and that’s a hell of a lot. Still, some truisms were reminded to me Friday, and I also learned a lot.
Couple thoughts on our great migration
— So we ended up with 84 packed boxes by Friday morning. Eighty-freaking-four. Never would’ve guessed that many. But I got to discover, again, that the guy or girl who invented the tape gun should be on Mount Rushmore. Schoolkids should have his or her birthday off as a national holiday.
The tape gun is everything and amazing.
— We had four outstanding moving men, but there were a few times, when one of them had to direct the other slide the couch the other way, or back up so the dresser could fit through, when I thought of the classic old Jerry Seinfeld bit about moving furniture. He says as people are manuevering heavy stuff they say to each other “easy, easy,” when in really it’s really hard, and they should say “Difficult, difficult, very difficult.”
— So much more space in the new house. So fabulous to have more closets than we know what to do with. You live in Manhattan long enough, you accept that your closets will have BOTH toilet paper and winter coats in them.
–There is no sound quite like the sounds of your voice once all the furniture has been removed from your apartment, and suddenly your words are echoing around the room. Very eerie and quite bizarre.
— We waited to pack all the 3-year-old’s toys until he was at his Grammy and Papa’s apartment the night before the move. Saved a lot of tears and consoling that way.
— Finally, maybe the coolest thing about moving is the feeling of satisfaction as the truck drives away from your new place. Finally, everything you own is in one place, where it’ll stay forever.
Or until, you know, you find someplace better.