First Look

Let's recap, we all know I have OCD, I am Type A and hate to be without my chapstick and hand lotion for more than 30 seconds (think I am joking? try me). So when I wrote in a previous post I had a few questions about what conditions I would be dealing with in India, to say I was anxious about the answers was an understatement.

I know, I am volunteering, I know, millions of people live in awful conditions around the world and I should thank my lucky stars for a roof over my head, clean drinking water and the fact that I can sleep at night without a mosquito net. But let's get real, I am not the Peace Corps joining, hemp harvesting, natural deodorant wearing type. So in theory "disconnecting" sounds fun, but one must ask - how disconnected does that really mean? And will there be a panic button that I can push which will rush me back to a place with a 90-hr DVR and a SodaStream?

My Answers: 

AC - only in guest house. Yikes, don't care for this very much. Especially since I make my husband and kids layer up as I chill down my abode. Mama doesn't like to sweat. 

Internet - in guest house, yes! Thank god. I am not sure I can be without a steady stream of celebrity news. I consider informing the children of Chennai about which Housewife is off the rails - the true humanitarian work. 

Toilets - Ugh...this is the kicker. Many emails went back and forth and a definition and Google search followed of "non-Western" toilets. To be honest, I had to first Google if USA was Western or not. I am not very bright. Let's just say, the house I will be staying in has a flushing toilet and some of the orphanages do to - but not all. So limited water intake and a lot of "walking it off" will be taking place. 

In all, I am pretty happy with my answers. Especially that I was told it will be the rainy season and to pack a raincoat. Which in my mind, means "you can now purchase those adorable Hunter rain boots you have been lusting over - but couldn't justify buying because you live in the desert". Thanks, India. 

Here are a few pictures of the house I will be staying in. It looks nice and who doesn't love to sit in plastic patio chairs? I feel they put that fan there just for me. I wonder, is the box of tissues in the bedroom for me to use, as I silently sob over how I hate my roommate? 

Is there electricity?

I'm about to let the cat out of the bag, I am a bit high maintenance. Growing up I used to joke that my family's idea of ruffing it was staying at an Embassy Suites. I recall leaving a hotel in Florida once because my mother saw a lizard in the pool area. I do not come from hearty stock - I bruise easily, don't like to be dirty and have never had a "good sweat". 

I like things a certain way when I travel; I have expectations. Room service is a must, and a bellman who can bring my bags to my room and stand awkwardly while I search for the lone dollar bill I have floating around my purse and a hotel bar - because seriously, I like to drink. 

Call me naive, but it just dawned on me that I will be without certain things I have come to expect when I travel to India. Sure, I knew I would be out of my comfort zone - but they clearly must have WiFi, right? Hello, how else am I supposed to keep up with the Kardashians? 

So today, like a stuck-up American everyone in the world hates, I emailed the country manager for Global Volunteers with my questions. It went something like this (insert hair twirling, gum chewing and valley girl cadence - as I am sure that is how he pictured me while reading my email). 

Dear XXXX, 

Please don't think I am a stuck-up American, I am not, well, kind of, it really depends on who you ask. But I have a few questions about the accommodations while I will be in India.

• Plumbing - will there be a toilet? And one that I can flush? I am not about to go in a bucket, dig a hole or go outside in an outhouse. If no such toilet is available I will attempt to "hold-it" for two weeks. 
• AC - how freakin' hot is it going to be and will there be AC at every turn? If not, I may need to reconsider this trip all together. 
• Internet - mama likes to stay connected, so what is the likelihood I can check my Twitter feed every 2-3 minutes? You know I only do things so I can post them on Facebook? 
• Cell phone - is there someone at the airport I can give money to so I can have a cell phone to use while I am there? I have never gone more than 5 minutes without holding one in my hand and I fear I will go into some sort of seizure. 

Thank you for your time - gotta run, someone just posted something on Pinterest I must repin. 

Erin 

So now I wait for the answers. Many people think this forced culture shock will be good for me. I on the other hand worry about how many shows my DVR will be able to record for me while I am gone. 

I'll Always Be With You.....

A question I was recently asked keeps circling through my brain, it is a question any foster parent has been asked many times over. It's a question spoken with good intentions, from a place of general inquiry. However to you, the answer is so universally clear that you can't imagine the question having merit. 

How do you not get attached to these children?

I truly hate the title "foster parents", it is cold, distant and lacking of what we truly are - parents. I often feel that people look at us as specimens, you can see their brain doing calculations on ages, looking you and your children over, doing a mental inventory so it makes sense in their brain "curly hair (check), brown eyes (check), dark skin (no check), WAIT - where did this baby come from?" 

The inevitable questions begin right away, were we not able to have our own children (I have been asked many times if my eggs are bad), are you going to adopt, and how can we can stand to let them go. The last question really gets me, it insinuates that our heart does not ache like theirs would, that our tears must not flow as freely, that our family is simply made up of a boarding facility to which children siphon through. 

Nothing in my life has been as hard as being a foster parent, for me. It is not to say that others haven't had strife in their life, that their journey isn't filled with more struggles, despair and anguish. Don't get me wrong, I am truly lucky, my life is pretty comfortable - when I look through it with the rose colored glasses of optimism. But it is hard, it hurts and there is little appreciation for it. 

So the answer to the above mentioned question is simple. You must get attached, you can't help yourself from getting attached - it is your job to get attached. It is your job to kiss the ouches away, wipe the tears, hug tight, look under the bed for monsters, tell them you love them and let them call you whatever the hell they want to - mom, Nana, Mimi, or just Erin.

I fear the day they leave, I cry a lot over that moment - any foster parent does. But it doesn't make the daily joys less joyful. The moments when these amazing children realize food will always be available, hugs are limitless and love is unconditional. 

There is a quote I have in my kid's room, it truly sums up the journey perfectly. 

To my fellow foster parents - I know that look in your eyes. The look of court not going the right way, of case workers calling you "placements" one too many times and the fear that hides behind that slight smile. But years from now, when that child has grown, is strong, healthy and successful - at some point they will think "I was safe, I was cared for, I was loved." 

The Ask

I have been wanting to travel and volunteer for years, it has been on my "bucket list" (even though I would never call it that as I hate that name). What has been holding me back you ask? Money! It isn't cheap to travel internationally, heck, I can barely afford to get to San Diego and that is just a few hours away. 

In the last few years Derek and I have spent any expendable income on preparing to become foster parents. We traded in our old, unreliable cars for more fuel efficient family trucksters. We remodeled and updated our rooms to accommodate many different age ranges and bought many beds, cribs and strollers. 

The funny thing about being foster parents is there are no baby showers, no time when your family and friends sit you down and shower you with gifts of things you so desperately need. No congratulation gifts, baby games and sugary sweets in honor of your bundle of joy. It is all on you. 

So deciding to spend two weeks vacation time, $1700 service fee, plus the $1600+ airfare to India - well, that was a lot to plan for. Many people have said "wait, you have to pay to volunteer?" Uh, duh, yes! I will be gone for two weeks, staying in Chennai and helping abandoned and orphaned children. They don't just let you do that for free - it costs. And quite frankly, a lot for this girl. 

But I am determined to get there, and here are a few "resolutions" if you will to help me:
1. Limit Starbucks intake - I can save a bunch of money drinking (gasp) store bought coffee.
2. No eating out - unless in the weekly budget. 
3. Drink at home - do you know how much a night of pricey cocktails can cost?
4. Realize your children don't need a new outfit daily (this is hardest for me).
5. Ask for help.

I am struggling with #5. I realize my trip to India is for me, and asking for others to help me get there - that isn't easy. Some of the best people in my life have said they wanted to support me, and if that means they would like to donate to my trip - I would be more than grateful. But please know, I am not expecting anyone to care or help me get to India. 

If you are so inclined, the volunteer group (501c3 non-profit) has set up a donation page for my trip. I encourage you to take a look (link below), no pressure to donate, just read about my trip and what I will be doing. 

http://donations.globalvolunteers.org/erinschmidt

1, 2, 3, 4...repeat

I'll let you in on a little secret, I am power hungry. But not in the way one may think - I have tried to climb the proverbial corporate ladder and slipped on a few rungs, but the power I seek is much more personal - the power of control, to make outcomes what I truly believe they should be. For that hunger I can not be satiated. 

My entire life I have struggled with OCD. Not the everyday kind that many think they have where they must check to see if they locked the front door or turned off the stove - mine is the kind that keeps me up at night. The kind that forces me to count in 4s, walk a certain way, repeat a saying (more times that I care to admit), touch something just right, the list goes on and on. And if I don't do these things - well it is obvious, someone will die, there will be a car accident, shooting, hurricane, tsunami - you name it - it will happen. 

In my 34 years I have found some relief to my "madness" and many of the treatments I have sought have worked - but my desire for control is never fulfilled. Perhaps that is why I seek order in so many different ways. Why my quest for organization will never be achieved, why my spreadsheets, planners, lists and calendars will never have the correct method of clarity. I am and will forever be an obsesser. 

So how does this pertain to my journey? Because I have picked one of the most insane paths to walk down for someone who craves control and power - foster care. Last night sitting at my dining room table were two key planners in the case of our little girl and no matter how many times they repeat it, no matter how many times I hear it, I just can't seem to grasp it. We have NO control. No matter how many meetings I attend, emails I send, how much I love, fight, claw my way to justice - it is out of our control. The outcome is left for others to decide and I can't handle that truth. 

I am not religious, but I do believe in karma and the power of good. I must believe that someone will see this little girl deserves stability, love and us. I must let go of the need to control the outcome, because as I have been told - I can't. 

So until then, I will count, repeat, and pretend it all makes sense - because that is the only power I have. 

Can I get a witness?

I've spent much of my late teens and adult life attempting to avoid court. I cross at the crosswalk, refrain from selling drugs, pay way too much for cabs after a night of drinking, and always bring my shopping carts back to the return carousel. But when you are a foster parent court seems like a second home to you. A home where the lighting is dim, the decor is stale and the house guests haven't showered in days. 

Court is always nerve wracking and so much goes into it. Let me break it down for you:

• The outfit: Seriously, what to wear? You want to look cute but not too cute. You need to stand out from the low-life's who are there trying to right the wrongs of their past. God help you if you get mistaken for a defendant. You also want to appear that you aren't broke and give half a kidney a month to your student loan lender. Heels must be worn, but not too high, or too on trend. Makeup must be done, but not too done like you are hitting the club. It is a whole process. And frankly way too involved when I am already a nervous wreck.

• The walk-in: Without a doubt the bio parents will be sitting within an arms throw of the security desk. Which is always fun as you must pretend you don't see them and aren't wishing they lose custody of the amazing little one you spent your days/nights caring for. Now remember, look good while getting screened for explosives - smile but not too big as your face is huge already (theme of the blog). 

• Waiting: Who says things start on time, no one in juvenile court. Without a doubt there will be the sitting, waiting and pretending you aren't about to throw up your grande Americano with a few shakes of cinnamon. Talk weather, show pictures of their way-too-cute-to-have-come-from-them kid, look at your phone, smile, phone check again, smile, phone check, it goes on like this forever. 

• It's time: I am a cross my arms over my chest type of girl. It makes me feel better, but any manners freak will tell you it looks like you are closed off and aggressive, so I always sit demurely with my hands in my lap....which is never easy. And the hardest part, no phone for 60 minutes. I know, I almost faint from being cut off. 

• Walk-out: Without a doubt, if you are a foster parent court is never what you expect it to be. No matter what, you will be hurt in some way and it won't go in the direction any normal person would expect the world to turn. So the walk-out is always tricky. This is where I usually resort to a quick rush to the door, cover face if emotion is on it and head straight to the bar. Yesterday was definitely a double Jack & Coke type of day. 

I can't be too candid as to what actually goes on in the court room, but just know, we will fight and do what is right for the children we care for. We may not always be heard, but we do make a difference somewhere. 

So, until the next time I must appear in court - here is to getting through it without cursing, fainting or sitting next to a lawyer. 

Did they tell you not to smile?

Hello, my name is Erin, I'm 34 and have no Passport. 

"Hi, Erin". 

Well, that is what I feel should happen. Seriously, though....where do I go? I don't need a Passport. Last I checked you didn't need one to enter the Total Wine, Ikea or the Container Store in Scottsdale. I travel for work but unless the fabulous city of Huntsville, AL was out of country lines; I think I am OK. 

I didn't want a Passport to remind me of the places I have yet to visit. The empty pages staring at me like a nagging girlfriend. "Get out and get a life," it would say. But what I really didn't want to have to deal with - the Passport photo! I secretly moved to AZ so my license didn't expire for 75 years and can use the same photo until I am in my late 50's (its actually a really good photo, dumb luck I guess). So I couldn't risk having a bad Passport photo, it would kill me. 

So I prepared, planned, exfoliated, moisturized and spritzed. I was ready, I had the light dewy glow of sun-kissed skin, there wasn't a curl out of place and I had practiced my best smile, not too big because my face is already huge. I strut into the Passport office on the campus of the University of Arizona in my best outfit (super cute newly purchased vintage heels) and what, it was closed! Blimey. What to do? I have 60 minutes to take the best photo of my life. 

I raced to CVS to find some drunk college kid stole their camera, lovely, Tucson. Off to Walgreens where the lady behind the photo counter was seriously untrained in taking a good photo. I almost backed out, I couldn't trust her in her stained kacky pants and greasy hair to take a good picture. And she didn't. It was horrible. My necklace was all jacked up and my chin seemed to have grown three more while I stood there. But I was over it and I didn't want to break her little heart - she seemed so proud of it. So I paid the money, took the crappy photo and quickly had Derek make fun of how weird I look. Ugh. Perfect outfit and hair-day wasted!

Cut to try #2 at the UofA Passport office, I turn in my photo and the young lady (why is everyone so much younger than me?) says, "we can't use this, your glasses have major glare. We must retake." What, no, no, no, she must be mistaken? I have on yoga pants, my hair hasn't seen Wen in five days and the only makeup I have on is a light tinted moisturizer (no, thank you Josie Maran). But I was forced, and this picture is beyond bad. It will haunt me, follow me around like some bad Nick Nolte mug shot. 

At least I still have my Visa picture to take - and trust me, I will hire a stylist if I need to. 

It's gonna be a trip

Many people ask, why India? Probably because they know I hate the heat and gag at anything that smells less than neutral. And truly, I have no great answer, nothing that is profound or earth shattering - other than I feel I am called to India. 

I am not a religious person, not overly spiritual and can barely keep a regular stretching schedule yet alone have a yogi I follow, but India has always spoken to me. And when something speaks to me, even if it took 34 years (wait, am I really that old?), I have decided to listen. 

I don't expect people to really follow my journey, it is more personal than anything else. I have a terrible memory and figure this blog will be a good way to keep track of the process. 

I named it Unless because that sums up my life. I have always been a nervous, type A personality. My life is filled with questions I demand answers to, questions that I always end with "unless this" or "unless that" happens. And like the printout of the 30 Dr. Suess Quotes that Can Change Your Life says at number 8, Unless! 

My journey doesn't begin unless I make the first move, unless I let it all go and just breath, unless I realize I can't control everything and unless I find contentment in the unknowing. So here it goes, Unless.....