Two Years Today

Crazy about this kid.

One Month

We survived. Barely.


The kids are getting along well.


Lucy is by far the chunkiest.


They're all still very sleepy.


Don't let this picture fool you. Most of the time she's pulling hair and grabbing noses. "HONK!"


People wonder how I have time to do anything on the internet. I must confess, it's kind of my drug—an escape I can take five minutes at a time. I should be napping. I should be cleaning. I should be pumping. But this is where I end up.

Our Little Helper

Two Weeks

C, E, and L

Hard to believe. It's been the longest two weeks of my life, that's for sure. Round the clock feedings, near-comatose preemies, and a very excited but very volatile big sister make for some crazy times. But our stress level was significantly reduced when we took them for their weight check on Friday and found out that they all have gained plenty of weight, even Eddie. The doctor says he's in the clear and, though we still feed him more frequently than the other two, he's progressing well and eating at least 2 oz each feeding. HUGE SIGH OF RELIEF!! Charlie is over 6 lbs in fact and he and Lucy have exceeded their birth weight.


Our good friend, M, came by one day to take Elizabeth with her and her son to the playground and brought this double-stroller, which she said she was throwing away. I quickly asked if we could have it and she graciously agreed. This is a picture of our first ever excursion. We walked around the block. It was liberating.

Super G-Ma. Adam and I left three sleeping babies for just 45 min and came back to this.

My mom left on Saturday. That was a very hard goodbye. Things have been up and down since. I felt pretty good over the weekend. We managed at night with just the two of us, mostly because Adam kindly fed two babies and I just nursed one. And we had a lot of help on Saturday. But this morning a heavy fog of depression seemed to settle down on me. It's lifted somewhat as the day has gone on, but it varies according to how well feeding, especially nursing, goes. This morning, I couldn't bring myself to face any of it. I had no patience for Elizabeth. I let Adam do everything. I just didn't care. It's hard to feel a deep, bonding love for three newborns at once. At least, it's been hard for me. I never feel like I'm giving enough, and yet I don't know how I can give more and stay alive. For the moment, at least, I'm stable. I hope it lasts.


Charlie, our first-born, was the first to loose his umbilical cord and therefore got to have his first bath. You can't tell by the picture but he liked it. He's a snuggler. He sleeps a lot better being held. But he's also a pain to change his diaper b/c he ALWAYS pees. This is a new thing for me, projectile urination. Lucy is easy-going. She sleeps well and eats well, from a bottle. But she spits up a ton so we put her to bed in her car seat. And Eddie is Eddie. He's just happy to be here. And he's eating more each day. They all are. They still take a lot of attention to feed and I'm just waiting for the day when I can pop a bottle in each mouth and they can do their thing. But until then, I better sign off and get some rest before the next one has to eat.

Sleepy Time

Eddie, Charlie, and Lucy

Eddie somehow ended up in a pink blanket.

Birth story to follow. The whole hospital stay was kind of traumatic so I'm still processing. But we're home. They're healthy. Eddie of course needs all the attention still, and so is having a hard time eating enough. But we're working on it and trying to stay sane on the negligible sleep we're getting.

Meet Lucy, Edward, and Charles

Final Thoughts

My brain seems too scattered to organize my thoughts into something cohesive. So I apologize for the randomness of the following. But I just wanted to put down what I was thinking and feeling the day before the triplets are born.

What a strange thing to know when your child is going to be born. I can see why it would appeal to a certain personality. But I prefer the unknown of spontaneous labor, mostly b/c, as time passes, the number of days I have left have been inversely proportional to how many hours of sleep I get at night.

We still don't know what we're going to name them. We have a list we keep messing with, but we're waiting until we see them. I think, though, that I've just been putting it off. I wish we'd put more time into it. But it's too late now.

It's hard to think I won't be pregnant anymore. GLORIOUS to think, but hard to imagine. I feel like I've been pregnant forever. This has obviously been the harder of the two pregnancies, but from what I've heard and read, I've had a very easy triplet pregnancy. And it's pretty much a miracle I've lasted this long. The average gestational age for triplets is 32 weeks. I read somewhere that 70% of triplet-carrying women had to be hospitalized before delivery. I have felt from early on that everything would be fine with this pregnancy. That I wouldn't loose one of them; that I would carry them as long as possible; that they would be healthy and whole. Whatever their birth weight or the length of their stay in the hospital, I feel very blessed and give all the credit to God.

I often wonder if Elizabeth has any concept of what is about to happen. But then, I don't know if I do either. There are so many unknowns. I am grateful I won't have to re-learn how to be a mother—that I've already been a new mom and won't be gripped by the same fears. But the ins and outs of how we'll care for three newborns and a toddler are like a big, black cloud of uncertainty, hanging over my head. My mom, along with everyone, keeps telling me to just take things one day at a time, one task at a time. Things will work out. But I wish I knew what I was in for. A friend asked about what kind of system or help we have lined up, but with all the variables, I haven't made much preparation, especially since we don't know how long, if at all, they'll be in the NICU. I know the ward is ready to jump in any time. But there are 5, count 'em, 5 other women having babies in the next few months. The poor Relief Society is going to be babied out by the time it's all over. Good thing we're getting ours in first. :) For live-in help, my mom is here until the middle of September, after which Adam will use his vacation time he's saved up to stay home (if he can wait that long.) After that, we're on our own. It will be a baptism by fire, I'm sure. One parent of triplets told me that if our marriage survives the first year, we'll be set for life.

The rest of my thoughts are scattered bits of strollers, epidurals, baby carriers, bottles, hospital gowns, and so on, combined with memories of Elizabeth's birth. How different this one will be!

Lastly, I have been moved and humbled by the outpouring of love and support. Besides many, many generous gifts, we've also gotten many offers of help, prayers, and well wishes. I sincerely thank all of you for your calls, emails, cards, and love. And now, on to the undiscovered country! This is Emily Johnson signing off. See you on the flip side!

1-2-3-4

special day.

love birds.

























babies on the way.




































incredible years.

D-Day

The c-section has been scheduled for September 3rd.

That's in two weeks.

What was it I learned from my Hitchhiker's Guide?

Oh yeah. DON'T PANIC!



P.S. My camera wasn't working, but friends have pictures of the baby shower here and here. It was awesome.

Quick Update

So I don't have to actually stick myself twice a day. Whew!

I'm receiving medicine from a pump that's hooked into my thigh. The medicine is supposed to lessen contractions. Grabbing a handful of fat and ramming that needle into my thigh was one of the scariest things I've ever done. I was totally crying. But guess what? It didn't hurt. Just like they said. I only have to do that every five days. And the nurse was really nice and said something like, "I've been a nurse for 20 years and I would still be hesitant to give myself an injection." So that made me feel a little less wussy.

I'm also supposed to monitor myself on this home uterine monitor-thing. Twice a day I strap this belt to my belly and have to lie still for an hour while it counts my contractions. And let me tell you, towards the end of the hour I want to rip the belt off and run screaming out the door. Actually, running screaming out the door is something I fantasize about often.

Aunt Kim has gone home and my Mom is on her way. I think these next few weeks are going to take all the mental and emotional toughness I have.

The Beginning of the End

Yo mamma's so fat, she doesn't fit her maternity clothes!

Well, we were lucky to get this far, but my days of skipping through the streets of Brooklyn are over for now.

At my appointment yesterday, the ultrasound showed that my cervix had shortened. And when the doc checked me, I was 1.5 cm dilated.

"So this means you're on bed rest," he said without hesitation. I think that's when my eyes started to glaze over.

Just a few minutes before, I had told him that my Braxton Hicks (or "fake") contractions were getting pretty intense. This had prompted him to decide that I was going off Procardia (a heart medicine that is supposed to put off labor) and going onto a new medicine that will be delivered via pump and needle.

"It's the size of a thumbtack. You just put it on your thigh and whack!" He slapped my thigh.

That was when I gave him my crazy stare—where you lower your brows but open your eyes really wide.

"It won't hurt," he assured me.

"Yeah right!" I shot back.

Somehow, this pump thing is accompanied by a monitor that I will have to use twice a day to check for contractions. The Fed Ex package arrived this morning. It's been shoved out of sight into a corner. I'll let the nurse who's coming to show me how to use it open it.

So after the announcement that I will have to start daily torture treatments, and that I would now be confined to my bed/couch for the rest of eternity (or until the babies come,) I was feeling a little . . . freaked OUT. "Hey! Somebody make this lady smile!" the doctor joked to the nurses. Har. Freakin. Har.

Thankfully, Kim is still here and staying until Saturday night. She's already stepped up her game, cooking dinner all by herself and making sure I'm watered and fed. Then, my mom comes Monday afternoon and she'll be with us for about four weeks. So these babies will have a four-week window to make their appearance, graduate out of the NICU, come home, get on a schedule, and start sleeping through the night. That's not too much to ask, right?

I'm cautiously optimistic about their development. So far, they're all three growing at about the same rate. The ultrasound showed them at 4 lbs and change, but of course it's a very rough estimate. Still, we're praying they'll make it to as close as 5 lbs as possible. We shall see.

So if any of you have been meaning to call and catch up, I'm TOTALLY AVAILABLE and most likely dying of boredom. How's that for subtle?

Ten Years

"Near the blue Ontario's waters, our Alma Mater dear. . ."

Two weekends ago, while commuting home before a visit to my parents house and to attend my ten year high school reunion, I reflected on where and who I was ten years later. On the subway I wrote:

Thinking about the past opens a sort of flood of emotions and memories. It is now 2010. When I look back at where I've come, I am pleased and slightly amazed. Never, Never, would I have imagined I'd live in Brooklyn and be married with almost four kids and be a decent designer working at a prestigious publishing house. I attribute it all to the Lord and His goodness.

As my wife and I walked to the door the night of the reunion, I was pretty nervous, walking into an unknown: of who I'd see, what they would think, and what we would talk about. Fortunately the night, and the trip overall, went better than I had hoped. I got to catch up with four of the seven friends I had hoped to see, and discovered that people don't change all that much.

The weekend was summer all wrapped into one. I finally got to show Emily the shores of Ontario and have a good salt-free swim. We enjoyed a bonfire, BBQ, and an amazing amateur fireworks display at an old friend's home. Elizabeth got to spend time with Aunt Megan, Gramma, Grampa, and Great Gramma. Emily enjoyed the frigid temperatures of the my parents home, while I got to dig in the dirt with Elizabeth, swing, and climb a tree. Unfortunately we didn't see much of Matt. My brother was busy in the shop working on Pedro (our former car) so that he could take us home to Brooklyn for his last family road trip.

Pedro has moved on to new owners and our family is moving on to new life experiences. But it's good to look back on the miles you've gone and how you've been helped along the way. —Adam

Playing with Great-Grandma

Tim and his wife, Rebecca.

Emily taking a break. We're talking with Sarah, one of Adam's closest friends in HS.

Another old friend, Josh, who runs his own tattoo parlor in Santa Barbara.

The reunion organizer asked Emily to pose sideways.

At Lake Ontario. Elizabeth has such good manners. Look at that pinky.

Daddy and daughter.

This, Too Shall Pass

This morning I was sitting with some friends—a young couple like Adam and me, who also have a little girl. They were off conversing about something and when I looked their way, the wife had her arms around the husband's neck and they were smiling and talking. I quickly looked away, though they weren't doing anything especially private. But in that moment, something inside me cried out in pain.

Pregnancy does strange things to you, and not just to your body. (Though those things are strange indeed. Who knew stretch marks could be blue?) I find myself startled when I see someone bend over to pick something up off the ground or when I see moms sitting on the floor with their children. At the post office, at a store, walking along a sidewalk, I feel bewildered and angry if I can't find anywhere to sit down. Why wouldn't they think of that? Doesn't everyone want to sit after five minutes on their feet? I wonder at the self-absorption that makes me see all the world through the lens of my own disabilities.

And it's not just the physical. As I watch romantic scenes in movies, I alternate between incredulity and bitter jealousy. How can she stand being so close to him? changes to why don't I feel like that anymore? It's not fair. I look at pictures of myself on various outings with Adam, before the pregnancy and even before Elizabeth, and I'm shocked by the change. I used to look so happy. So alive. I've never been one to think much of my looks. But at times I almost weep when I see how pretty I used to be. Or, more accurately, how pretty I used to feel. I used to be a wife, lover, friend, and mom. Now I feel like all I am is a walking baby incubator. I suppose that's why it hurt to see my friend with her arms around her husband's neck. There was no baby belly between them. No weight weighing her down. Just youth, happiness, and love.

Of course, I don't know the inner struggles my friend and her husband may be facing. And I know that, all too soon, I will remember, as I did after Elizabeth was born, how "easy" it was to take care of the triplets when they were inside me. But for now, like my toes, these things are hard to see.

Peter, James, and Joan?

Whoa Nelly! That's some belly!

Well I'm 27 1/2 weeks and the triplets are doing great. "Perfect" is the word my doctor used today. The two boys are 2 lbs 5 oz, and little Miss Piggy is 2 lbs 13 oz! So yes that's almost 7 pounds of baby inside me and I still have two months to go. In fact, the doctor said that since everything is going so well, he doesn't see why I won't make it to 36 weeks. Hooray! Oh, wait . . .

But all joking aside, I'm really grateful how well things are going. No shortening of the cervix. No bed rest. No hypertension. None of the manifold complications that are so common to multiple pregnancy. I do admit that at times, I almost wish I would be put on bed rest. Especially when it's as hot as it has been and my energy seems to drain away with every drop of sweat. But heat waves aside, I really don't have much to complain about.

So what about names? We actually sat down and made a list, with Kim's help. She looked up names on the Social Security website (mostly around the turn of the century) and we gave our thumbs up or down. We have a good list now, though Adam still stubbornly refuses to accept Dorothy. Grandma names are cool! So the debate goes on.

In the meantime, they're holding their own World Cup inside me. (I suspect a goal is scored every time they make me run to the bathroom.) And Baby A, the farthest one down, is doing his very best to break my pelvic bone. The little dears . . .

Liddybit's Latest

Elizabeth's days as an only child are numbered. But that doesn't stop us from being completely head-over-heels in love with her. (When we're not exasperated beyond words with her.) Lately, my favorite thing to do is decipher her newly-formed "sentences." These include:

"Show me!" = "Let me show you something." or "Follow me or I will throw a fit."

"Hol dit" = "Hold this for me." or "Let me hold this."

"Have some." = "May I have some?"

"Foun dit" = "I found it!"

and our favorite,

"Luh you" = "Love you."

She's also started saying "my dadda" whenever she wants Adam. And starting about halfway through sacrament meeting, each Sunday, she'll start saying (shouting) "Nursery! Nursery!" She's also inexplicably began asking for "time out" when she's upset. I think she likes the excuse to sit and cry.

So, Elizabeth, enjoy all the attention while you can!

For some reason, when I look at this picture, I see myself.

Month in Review

How the Johnson's keep cool in 90° heat w/ 80% humidity.

So here's the promised update.

Memorial Day weekend, we moved. Thanks to our awesome ward, it only took four hours to get everything moved and the old apartment clean. When I took a car-load of stuff down to the new place, to see it for the second time ever, I found out the key I had for our door didn't work. I should have taken it for a sign.

Tuesday after moving in, I left the apartment with Elizabeth to run some errands. I paused on the landing as soon as the door shut behind me. I had no keys. I had no phone. The best bit was that I had left inside the only working key we had for the one lock I'd already promised Adam I wouldn't lock until we got a duplicate. I was saved from death by starvation and/or a bursting bladder by the mercy of my friend, M, and our landlord's mother who had her grandson, with M's help, shimmy up the fire escape to an open window. I'm still waiting for his mom to call and scream at me for putting her child in danger.

All the excitement (plus a parking ticket and a disastrous trip to the laundromat with Elizabeth) must have been too much for my body b/c on Friday, June 4th, I found out from the doctor that I had tested positive in a fetal fibronectin test (that tests for signs of labor) so I was put on more or less bed rest. I could still go to the bathroom and get myself a sandwich, but was supposed to eliminate "all unnecessary movement." Somebody please tell me what on earth that means? Isn't shopping for groceries necessary? How about going outside for my own sanity's sake? Once again, the ward came through. I let the Relief Society president know on Friday and Sunday, right after church got out, I started getting phone call after phone call of people offering to bring food, watch Elizabeth, and (bless them) do our laundry. I can't tell you how moved I was by the compassion everyone showed us. Even just the simple act of being able to take the sacrament at home, made me feel overwhelmingly grateful to be a member of such a wonderful church. At any rate, with a lot of help, we survived my week of bed rest and, at the next doctor's visit, my test was negative and I was back in business. Whew!

Let's see, so then on Sunday, June 20, I was released as the president of the young women group. It was something I had been expecting (and honestly looking forward to) for quite some time. But when the moment came, I looked at one of the girls' moms who was sitting up on the stand at the organ, and I just burst into tears. I've been in Young Women for over two years now, since before Elizabeth was born. I still got to teach the lesson, but now it's over and it's very bittersweet.

So now it's just been a matter of settling into our new place and me trying to figure out a new routine. Luckily, that has become 100% easier now that my husband's little sister has arrived. For reasons I cannot begin to fathom, she was willing to give up her entire summer vacation to come help me with Elizabeth. Pretty selfless 13-year-old, huh? All I can do to repay her is handle all the poopy diapers myself.

We've got most of the furniture where we want it. Adam's put up curtains and in his ingenious way figured out shelving and storage. He's even put up our gargantuan bookcase and mostly filled it. We still have tons of boxes to go but all the essentials are in their place. So how do I feel now that I'm finally living where I've wanted to live since we moved here? Depends on the day. Some days, I'm grateful to be so close to so many friends. And it's been such a blessing to have a playground just down the street. But on other days, as I'm trying to squeeze my huge belly past a kitchen chair, or lying in bed sweating, (since we STILL haven't gotten our a/c's properly installed—a whole other story—) or sitting on our stoop with no one to talk to, I start to really miss our old place. But rather then dwell on the negative, I'll just show you some pics of the place. I was going to wait until everything was unpacked and tidy, but—let's face it—that's not gonna happen for, oh . . . years?

(Now that I've uploaded these, I really wish I'd tidied up more before taking these. I really wish I tidied up ever. Sigh.)

Living Room

The tiny kitchen, complete with blue and white tile.

Elizabeth's Room

The bathroom, AKA the Blue Room

I don't have a good picture of our bedroom, which is ironic b/c that's the reason we moved: to have our own room. But it's big and nice and even more messy than all of the above so you'll just have to imagine.

Oh My Heck!

We haven't posted in a while. Mostly b/c of moving/temporary bedrest/internet problems. But I will update you on all of that, and post pics of the new diggs after I say my piece about swearing. What is up with it? Am I taking crazy pills? Have I lived in Utah too long?

When did it become okay to use the f-word in print?

What set this all off, or rather, started the slow, steady boil in my brain that has finally erupted, is my subscription to the New Yorker. We got it as a thank-you gift for supporting our local public radio station (which I highly encourage, and they do NOT use the f-bomb.) I felt rather cosmopolitan and erudite and somehow more redeemed as a former English major by receiving such a famous and well-respected magazine. I especially looked forward to reading the fiction pieces. Maybe I know zilch about contemporary short-story writing and its market, but I could have sworn the New Yorker was a good place to start reading. When I got my first issue, my excitement fizzled away into a sad heap of disappointment. I don't remember exactly how I felt when I saw the first four-letter word right there in the middle of my "classy" magazine, but I know how I feel each time now: assaulted, betrayed, and disgusted (with myself and the writer.) And it wasn't just profanity. Week after week, the fiction piece would have, besides a slew of f-bombs, at least one crude reference to sex.

Okay, so I don't read the fiction. The news articles, analysis, and op ed pieces should be safe. WRONG! Exactly how does vulgarity enhance my understanding of the credit crisis? Or a new art instillation? Or the challenges facing eco-minded inventors in the 21st century??? Was there a huge shift in cultural values while I wasn't looking?

Adam is always bringing home from work novels he thinks I'll like. (What a good husband, I know.) I'll start one, get into it just far enough to where I'm hooked, then have to hand him back the book and say, "Sorry. Take it back." And then I feel so angry that I've just filled my mind with filth simply to read—and not finish—a good story. It's gotten to where I'm wary to pick up a book if it wasn't written at least half a century ago.

And don't even get me started on the language people here use in every day life. Adults and children alike can't seem to manage to communicate without the f-word. When Adam tells me what it's like at his work, I'm shocked and outraged. Since when is it professional to swear like a sailor in an office setting, with people you're not "totally friends" with, in meetings and such? I thought that kind of language was seen as "low class" and immature. Are we all turning into teenage boys? Are we condemned to live forever in a football locker room?

So those of you who are out in the working world, living outside Happy Valley, what have been your experiences? And to all my more-literate, more-published friends, am I way behind on the norms for professional writing?

Like I said, am I taking crazy pills? Or am I too enmeshed in my Mormon culture?

P.S. And what's up with the NY-er putting umlauts over the second vowel in words like "coördinate?"

When I was a kid, we had a book called Mitchell is Moving about a dinosaur who decides one day he needs a change of scenery and moves across . . . the swamp? "I am a moving Mitchell!" he says throughout the book. When he gets to where he's going, though, he realizes how much he misses his friend, Margo. Luckily, she decides to move right next door to his new place. I've lost track of how many times I've moved (it was over a dozen times before I started college.) Every time, I hear Mitchell's self-affirming mantra in my mind. "I am a moving Emily!"

But really, moving stinks. Even when you know the move is for the best, you have to let go of a part of your past. I looked up our current address on Google Maps today and used street view to see our building. It's the same picture we've posted here before (though I can't for the life of me find which post) which has our car w/ Utah plates and our neighbors sitting on the stoop. It's still funny to me that they're in the picture, but this time I realized I could name each person in that picture, even the blurred, white-t-shirted boys running by.

For how long have I complained about our neighbors' smoke habits, or our nasty carpeting, or the run-down neighborhood? For how long have I dreamed of living in Bay Ridge, like it's the Happy Valley of Brooklyn? I'm sure the ward members who live down there think I'm such a wannabe. But now that we're getting down to it, it's hard to leave.

That picture on Google maps is from the fall of 2007, not long after we moved in. I remember sitting on our couch in this living room, as Adam told me he'd lost his job at the Moderns. I remember walking quietly into our bedroom and telling Adam when I found out I was pregnant with Elizabeth. It was in this living room I went through hours of labor. Heck, I almost gave birth to her right here. It's staggering to think of all we've been through in the last 2 1/2 years. Now the living room is lined with packed boxes and the walls are completely blank. I won't miss the smoke or the noise or the cracked tile or the sleeping arrangements, but I feel like when we move I'll be missing a piece of myself.

Good thing, I suppose, that there's more of me each day to make up for any losses. Here are some pics to chart my expanding sense of self:

14 weeks


17 weeks


21 weeks

What's really fun is standing next to my friend, Naomi, who is as far along as I am and just looks like a normal woman with a less-than-flat stomach. But I'm not complaining. I know some day not far from now I'll probably look like this poor soul:

But hey! At least she's smiling! (Maybe it's the beer cup she's holding, as Adam so kindly pointed out AFTER I'd uploaded the image. Oh well. Let's pretend it has water in it.)

Ch-Ch-Change . . .

This was a rather momentous week for the Johnson family.

This time last week, we still hadn't found a new apartment, though we had gone to a broker who had shown us a few. Then, on Monday, we got word that the landlord, whom we had met, had liked us and was willing to come down in the price. Adam was sold. I still wasn't convinced. The apartment was on the second floor, for one, and the kitchen was smaller (and uglier) than I'd hoped for. But the building was clean, the landlord lived on the premises, and our broker said we could probably store the stroller on the first floor. So we had just a few days to make our decision. I tried to set something up with another broker to see more apartments—just to satisfy myself that we weren't "settling"—but it never worked out. After a few very stressful days, I got so sick of going back and forth over it with Adam that I finally said I wanted to take it. I think what I actually said was "NYAAAAAAAAAAA!"

So Saturday we signed the lease and on June 1st or thereabouts, we will live here:

Adam and I will finally have a room of our own and we'll live in walking distance of a lot of our friends. (Read: close to the people we'll be asking to help with the triplets :) We didn't relish forking over a month's worth of rent as a broker fee, but, by george, I'm glad the search is over!

Another big blessing came when Adam got the word that his submission had been selected for AIGA'a 50 Books/50 Covers. (For those of us NOT in the design world, AIGA is the foremost professional association for design.) So out of the 800+ submissions, Adam's "Classic Shorts" series was in the top 50.

Adam's work will be featured in their annual, be archived online, and will be on display this fall at an exhibition here in New York. Go Adam!

As if all this weren't enough, Adam got an email Friday from a member of the stake presidency asking to meet with both of us Saturday morning. Knowing that our current bishop is moving soon, and that a new bishop had more than likely already been called, we could only conclude what inevitably happened: Adam is now a second counselor in the bishopric and, what's more, a high priest! (Again, for the uninitiated, most men in the church who reach the level of high priest are usually . . . past the bloom of youth. And don't think of it as a promotion. It's more of a place we send the gray-hairs when they're not young enough anymore to help members move but old enough to be our wise leaders. Just kidding.) The best part is that the new bishop is already our good friend. But I think the combined age of the entire bishopric is still less than the age of your average Utah stake president. Not that this is a big change. Our wonderful former bishop has a young family, too. So I guess that's just how things work here in good ol' Brooklyn. All joking aside, I'm really proud of Adam and his willingness to serve the Lord, despite all the challenges that lie ahead of us. I know he'll do a wonderful job cuz he's just that kind of guy.

Oh, and I'm 20 weeks now (4 1/2 months.) I've gained 35 lbs (right on track, according to my book,) and the triplets are growing well. So all in all, we have a lot to be grateful for, even amongst all this change.