Jaques, No Cleaning! I Will Try to Resist...

Mackie-- "Kylee do you spell your names with two e's?"
Eden-- "Of course she does Mackie, one E would read Kyle."

These are the sounds that surround me. Constant love-bickering.


I’ve had to undo my clasp on my skirt in order to sit long enough in comfort to write this. However, that cannot be the worst statement I make in this blog—no, not by a long shot. I think when we really hit rock bottom is when I say this:

THE GENERATOR IS STILL BROKEN.

One week. God created the entire world in one week, Kate Hudson manages to fall in love with and subsequently loose a guy in one week, and friends, Eden Rona and Kylee Gabrielsen have gone one without showering or electricity. You can’t be mad at us or find us disgusting because WE HAVE NO CHOICE. Every night we longingly stare up at the ceiling hoping to create light with sheer mind power. I have suggested we start using a windmill type electricity source; only we have someone riding a bike to generate the power (I would gladly take a turn pedaling if it meant Eden wouldn’t light anything else—including another starburst—on fire with the candle). The candles seem to be pure inspiration, although you would not want an emergency to strike while you were relying on its light. We found this out when we needed to hurry to the bathroom, but as soon as we began to move quicker than a snail the light went out in the middle of the hallway. So now we know why people being pursued by villains in castles move so slowly. It’s quite frustrating. We had a glimmer of hope the other night when-- for a brief moment-- we had a flickering of light in the house. Eden hopped up and booked it to the bathroom to use it while lit and was probably in the middle of something important when the lights went as quick as they came. I only had to count down from 3, when Eden’s screaming came right on queue. “KYLEE!!!!!! HELP, ITS DARK!!!!!!!!” As a solution to our medieval lifestyle, we have suited up as criminals and borrowed (ahem, stolen) a generator from someone in town. Minor details. It all paid off when we were able to enjoy the drizzle of the showerhead once more. We quickly discovered though that we have fallen out of practice in the art of showering. After some awkward and questionable encounters while we showered, Eden and I barreled out of the bathroom squeaky clean and into our sweaty and body-soiled sheets.

I do not know how this possibly keeps happening, but within these few days since the last entry, I have managed to feel like I’ve been transported back to my girls camp days. Well girls camp:
(-) the girls
(+) plus the kids
(-) the mountains
(+) the desert
(+) 100 degrees
(x) 3 months
But really though, we have decided that making those friendship bracelets (the ones you made more as a joke) is something the kids can do to generate profit. Trying to get 100 children to be patient enough to learn how to tie correct knots worked about as well as our generator has. It was also quite reminiscent of a sweatshop… It’s a hard knock life for us. There were kids tying each other together, boys just tying knots, girls dancing with the string, fiends tying the pigeon’s legs together. It was comparable to Daddy Daycare. Not to mention before we did that the poultry club (Lunatics, all of them. Voluntary clubs and they choose poultry..) needed help counting chickens in the coop. I’ll help out where and when I can, but when you throw me into a chicken pen and tell me to grab each individual chicken and throw them on the other side of the room while keeping count, I just have to really double and triple think that one over. I don’t like to eat them when they are dead, what makes you think I’d like to capture and cuddle them while they are alive? We were like the afternoon entertainment series. Three White Girls Locked in the Chicken Pen. You seen it? Its been nominated for Oscars. Kids were watching through the wire windows and laughing. Laughing… They are the first one’s up to pedal the bike.

On a lighter note, after Eden’s and my impromptu Sunday church lesson at the dining table, we moved onto our Relief Society meeting. This week’s lesson: The Art of Courting Justin Bieber-- as outlined by the Time’s magazine issue dedicated the boy heartthrob. The opening song will be “U Smile”, followed by a quick thought, “I’m reading from page 85 from an article titled, How to be Justin’s Number One. It reads, I’m pretty flirtatious, but I don’t use any lines. I just get my BIEBER on.” – Justin Bieber. It suffices me to say tears were shed, feelings were felt, and Mackie’s disgust with us was evident in the cancer causing rays of hate beaming from her eyes.

The Orphanage staff has grown one and a half persons larger. Ada, the new assistant director to Jane is great, and Ada, her granddaughter and Rachel Ostler look alike, has every characteristic similar to a leech. You have never met a child so eager to jump into your lap, or hold your hand, or latch onto your leg. And I thought my left leg felt 30 pounds heavier before she got here…

Trying to wash your face here is never entirely gratifying. You have what Eden fondly refers to as a ‘sweat-stash’ before you walk out of the bathroom. But trying to have at least an ounce of good hygiene, I attempt. But you know what? When I walk into the bathroom, turn of the faucet, cup my hands beneath it and a small fish comes diving out of the stream of water, I become a bit unnerved. Actually what is so funny and strange about the whole situation is that it didn’t even bother me. I just tossed him down the drain and continued washing, walked out of the bathroom and past the girls in the dining room and said, “Nemo just came out of the drain. Don’t want to alarm you.”

We’ve exchanged valuable blogging time, for picture and video editing time. Hopefully you will enjoy.