Toilet Paper, My Vulva, and the #StrawBan

Image is blue background with four text
blocks. Middle text block reads:
"How to react when a disabled person discloses
their access needs to you: (Explained by narwhals)

a small circular text block/bubble underneath is next to a bright pink cartoon narwhal and reads:

"I need a specific accommodation so that this space is accessible to me!"

The large left side text box has large red letters that say "YES!" on top of black text that reads:

"I am sorry that this space is not accessible!
Everyone deserves to be included, so thank you for bringing this to my attention! You certainly know your needs best and it would be incredibly rude and ableist of me to assume that I know better!
Can you help me by telling me what I need to do or directing me to information so that I can find ways to solve this inaccessibility problem?
We can all enjoy this space together!"

A smiling cartoon orange narwhal is under the text.

The large text box to the right has large red text that reads "NO!" on top of black text that reads:

"But why?
Have you tried doing it this way?
You don't look that disabled.
Why didn't you stay at home if you need so much help?
Are you sure you can't do this instead?
What kind of disability do you have?
That is rude.
How much will this cost ?
Just because you're disabled, that doesn't mean the world has to bend to your will.
You are being very selfish.
Do you have any proof that you need this?
Everyone else is doing it this way.
My brother's co-worker's second cousin once removed has the same disability that you have and they do not need this accommodation.
Wow, it really hurt my feelings that you think this is not
accessible. "

A frowning green cartoon narwhal is under that text.

neurodiversitylibrary.org watermark is on the bottom left of image.Someone made a choice (without consulting me) about my access to necessary equipment I rely upon for my health, independence, and well-being this week, and I'm not talking about the Seattle Straw Ban, although I've spent a great deal of time discussing it on my personal Facebook page and elsewhere, recently.

No, I'm talking about the Great Toilet Paper Swap of 2018, which shall henceforth evoke visuals of little pilled rolls of fiber, and friction burns in delicate places.

Here's the thing... When Mr. Wright went to the grocery store and saw that my preferred brand wasn't available in the multi-roll package with the roll count he preferred (for savings), he thought it was No Big Deal (NBD) to get a different brand, and save a few dollars in the process.

Saving money was his primary goal, for the good of the family, and he felt accomplished in being so conscientious. I think a lot of us can relate. Being responsible and conscientious makes us feel good about ourselves.

So, what does this have to do with the straw ban?

Plenty.

The first time I tried using the bargain toilet paper, it fell apart. It rolled up into little wads that separated from the sheet, and... clung... to my skin. It was a firetrucking disaster, hygienically speaking.

Access to good hygiene is -- at best -- a health concern, and -- at worst -- a matter of life and death. I think we can all agree on that.

But for many people with disabilities, going without plastic straws isn't a question of how much they care about dolphins or sea turtles; it can be a matter of life or death.

Maybe I'd changed my technique? Maybe I needed a bikini wax? I couldn't figure out what was causing the structural failure of the paper, and I really tried to make it work. I tried dabbing, instead of wiping. I tried drip-drying before patting dry, instead of wiping.

Nothing improved the performance, and it fell apart when I helped my toddler post-potty.

Clearly, THIS SUBSTITUTE for my usual toilet paper wasn't compatible with MY INDIVIDUAL NEEDS, or those of other family members, even though I tried everything I could think of to make it work, because I like to save money, too. I like to feel accomplished and conscientious, just as much as my husband does.

Maybe this paper works for other people. Maybe it works for people without sensory issues, or who have different skin, or who only use it to groom butterflies, or whatever. But it doesn't work for my family.

While reusable straws and redesigned cups may be a great solution for most people, they are not an option for many people with disabilities. For example, paper straws, which are most often cited as the best alternative, are not temperature safe, often dissolve in water and can become a choking hazard. As for lids designed to be used without a straw, they require the cup to be lifted by the user, which many people cannot do.

So, I went to Mr. Wright, and I said, "Hey. I know you don't have a vulva, so your experience is going be different than mine, I know. You don't have all the extra folds and bits that come with vulva ownership, so you might not understand, but this new toilet paper really doesn't work. It keeps self-destructing. It's kind of gross, and could we get rid of it, and replace it with the stuff we normally use and rely upon? Could we donate it to someone who might be able to use it without tissue issues?"

And he said, "Wow! I didn't know that was happening! As the only male in the house, I didn't that about how changing our toilet paper might affect the rest of you. I just thought about the savings. Thank you for letting me know. Of course, I'll make sure you have toilet tissue that works for you. Your vulva is important to me!"

I know some of you are wondering why this exchange was, and is, significant.

I know some of you are thinking, Of COURSE he should get you the toilet paper you need. It's such a simple thing.

And, I know others of you are thinking, What's the big firetrucking deal? It's TOILET PAPER! Just go get some, yourself, or use what's available, and deal with it. WHY IS THIS SO HARD?

The toilet paper doesn't work for me. It doesn't work for my daughters. He loves us. He wants us to know we're important. He's headed out to get toilet paper we can use.

He's showing us his respect and understanding, by making what we need available. He's showing us we're important to him, and our needs matter, even though they aren't the same as his.

It was so simple, and so easy to resolve. I communicated a need. I explained why the conscientious, money-saving solution didn't work for me, personally (or the other females in our home), and what was needed, instead.

And he responded by acknowledging my need, understanding that his experience is not the same as mine, and offering a solution that ensured I have access to what I need.

That's how it should be.

Unfortunately, I've watched the disabled community get marginalized time and again since news of the straw ban hit.

Many disabled people rely on single-use plastic straws, as a matter of survival. My grandfather, who was paralyzed in his final years, was simply one of many, many people who rely upon single-use plastic straws as a matter of access, independence, or literally life-versus-death.

Although there are numerous alternatives to plastic straws, such as metal, acrylic, glass, wheat- or corn-based compostable, paper, and more, some of those alternatives don't work for some disabled folks.

For my grandfather, metal, acrylic, glass, or other rigid designs not only posed a choking hazard, but also posed an elevated risk for cuts, tooth damage, and more, since he had tremors and diminished jaw control.

For folks who have allergies to corn or wheat, or celiac disease, bioplastics or straws made from those materials pose a definite health risk.

Paper straws tend to break down and can pose a choking hazard, especially for those who may need more time to consume fluids.

Some of the alternatives don't work for thickened liquids required for the nutrition of some disabled people.

I could go on, but suffice it to say that for some people, alternatives to single-use plastic straws don't work.

Naturally, for the good of the planet, we should all do as much as we can to reduce our planet's reliance on petroleum products, and reduce our waste and consumption of single-use packaging and utensils as much as possible. HOWEVER, it's simply not possible, for some of the disabled community.

Further, some of the discourse on the subject has been particularly disturbing, as disabled folks are being openly ignored, talked over, or shamed for their needs when they try to explain to the abled community what their specific needs are, and why an outright ban doesn't make for good policy.

(Image is a pink cartoon narwhal under a white bubble with question marks, an image of the earth and a plastic straw. Black text to the left reads: 
"How do plastic straw bans hurt disabled people?
Many disabled people need plastic straws to eat and drink. It provides access and they are literally keeping some of us alive! We don't hate the earth, but we really like being alive and able to access our communities!
-Paper and biodegradable straws break down faster than many of us can use them.
-Metal straws can cause injury if they are too hot or cold and also if the person has a disability that affects movement and motor skills.
-Reusable straws are great if you have the ability to wash, store and bring them with you every time you leave your house. Many disabled people do not.
-If you don't need a plastic straw, then don't use one, but you don't need to hurt disabled people to show that you love the earth.
-Punishing disabled people who need plastic straws to live will have very little impact on the environment but looking into creating a more viable and ACCESSIBLE alternative to single use plastic and placing greater regulations on businesses that are polluting the earth on a much larger, much more dangerous scale sure would!"
neurodiversitylibrary.org)

I've seen commenters say that the disabled should use reusable straws. When the disabled say they can't wash them, the abled say they should hire or recruit someone to come to their house to scrub their straws for them -- as if everyone has a budget to hire staff, or neighbors who are willing to sacrifice their time and effort on a regular and reliable basis, without compensation.

While the above might be, at best, attributed to the abled being out of touch, some of the backlash against the disabled has been worse:

"If you're too disabled to scrub a straw or use paper straws, you should have a feeding tube." Which, by the way, use single-use plastics, too. Ha.

"If you're too disabled to go without a straw, you shouldn't be visiting restaurants."

"We should only have flexible plastic straws in hospitals, convalescence centers, and nursing homes, because that's where disabled people belong."

"Disabled people are just making excuses!"

"Our planet is more important than their needs. Survival of the fittest!"

Readers, you may or may not know that Mr. Wright is a Norwex consultant. We use stainless straws at home. We use reusable, washable produce bags. Reusable shopping bags. Phosphate-free, natural cleaners, soaps, detergents, and more. We use dryer balls instead of dryer sheets. (Shameless plug... we get all these from Norwex, and you can, too, at the link I've provided.)

Our family -- while having disabled members -- remains incredibly privileged. We do our part to reduce/reuse/recycle, to offset the needs of those who can't.

When it comes to the needs of an already marginalized and disenfranchised population, can't we feel good about the choices we make, while ALSO providing access for those who don't have a choice?

Bottom line: If you don't need a single-use plastic straw, don't use one. The planet thanks you. But don't shame, degrade, or devalue those who do need them. Access and independence are for everyone.

"Like" The Gonzo Mama on Facebook, and don't forget to see what's cooking with Sexy Vegan Mama today!

I'm a White Trash Girl Who's Not Above Bowing to Political Pressure

Update:

I'm over it. You can thank Tristan.

I Love My Life!

A couple of weeks ago, Mr. Wright and I attended a Washington Policy Center dinner in Seattle. I'll save the "boring" political commentary that went along with this event for Citizen Gonzo, but here's the photo:



That's economist Stephen Moore, my Hottie McHotness self, that handsome devil we call Mr. Wright, and Ben Stein.

"Bueller...? Bueller...?"

A Crash Course in Satire and Why Sterilization Doesn’t Work

Someone named Judy Brezina of Carlton, Washington thinks I have no business calling myself a writer. She said as much in her May 14, 2009 letter to the editor of the Lake Chelan Mirror.

I have more than enough publishing credits to claim otherwise, but to each her own opinion. Speaking of which, a Google for “Judy Brezina” revealed a pretty impressive list of publishing credits for her, as well. Of course, they were all enraged letters to the editors of various newspapers, but I’m no snob. They totally count! Perhaps Ms. Brezina should write her own column, although satire and humor are clearly not her strong points.

For those not possessing the extensive vocabulary that Brezina does (“imbecilic,” “ignorant” and “insensitive” are all pretty big words, and nicely alliterative, to boot), the word “satire” is defined by Merriam-Webster’s (Brezina’s dictionary of choice) as: 1: a literary work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn; 2: trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly.

Did my column on Guantanamo Bay and bikinis not hold up the human vice of vanity and the follies of the detainee situation to a high enough standard of ridicule, Ms. Brezina?

Let’s take a look at the “gonzo” definition Brezina plucked from Merriam-Webster’s: 1: idiosyncratically subjective but engagé; 2: bizarre; 3: freewheeling or unconventional especially to the point of outrageousness. Brezina asserts that The Gonzo Mama column fits only the “bizarre” definition. I say she’s not giving me enough credit for living up to my name.

1. “Engagé” sent my spell-check feature into fits. I went back to Merriam-Webster.com to make sure I’d spelled it correctly and—I must admit—to get a proper definition. Ironically, Merriam-Webster failed to locate a definition. Dictionary.com, however, gave me this: (adj.) actively committed, as to a political cause.

What’s my cause? Drawing attention to human rights issues. Denouncing the laissez faire attitude of those who think the activities at Gitmo are of no concern. Shining a spotlight on societal standards which pressure women to fit an unrealistic ideal. It’s all in my piece, and it’s too bad Brezina lacks an appreciation for the satirical delivery. Make no mistake – I am serious about human rights. I don’t wear diamonds. I seek out fair trade companies. I cried when Converse was acquired by Nike, and I’m holding on to my circa 1990 Chuck Taylors until they disintegrate.

2. “Bizarre?” I plead no contest.

3. “Freewheeling or unconventional… to the point of outrageousness.” Excuse me, Ms. Brezina—are you not outraged?

Perhaps it’s inaccurate to say Ms. Brezina suggested I should be sterilized, but that’s the implication I took from her statement “…we should be extremely careful about overpopulation. Ms. Wright seems to be very proud of her ability to procreate. Personally, I don't think it's such a hot commodity. That's why God gave us the brains to control ourselves.”

Of all the barbs contained in Ms. Brezina’s letter, that particular statement incited the fiercest responses from The Gonzo Mama’s fans. The supportive replies flooded my inbox, popped up on Facebook, and planted themselves on both TheGonzoMama.com and LakeChelanMirror.com.

Most leaving comments denouncing Brezina’s letter are people who actually read my column – a credential Brezina herself clearly cannot claim. That’s why my regular readers were able to cry foul on her statement: They know that I gave birth to only one child.

I am, in fact, very proud of my ability to “procreate.” That is, the ability that allowed me to birth my son almost fifteen years ago. I’m proud, too, of surviving cervical cancer and other health issues that make my birthing another child a medical improbability. Does Ms. Brezina mean to vilify me for producing a single child?

I am equally proud of my four stepchildren, to whom I have been the full-time mother for about nine years. Ms. Brezina, do you begrudge those four children the benefit of a consistent mother? Should I have refused to marry their father—who had a vasectomy even before we met—because it would make me the mother of five children and subject to snide comments about “overpopulation?”

Know what else I am proud of? I am proud of my two youngest children; two beautiful little girls with special needs that we are adopting through the Department of Social and Health Services (DSHS).

Come to think of it, a certain level of population control could arise from the abolition of DSHS. With DSHS no longer in the picture, children would remain in homes where they were subjected to abuse and neglect, and we’d see a rise in child death rates as a result. Is this what you were getting at, Ms. Brezina? Should I stop adopting children who have been removed from dangerous homes? Am I failing to do my part for population control because I provide a safe, loving home for children who don’t have one?

I suppose you’re right, though, Judy. God actually didn’t give me the brains to control myself. When a child needs a mother, I just can’t seem to say, “No.”

Frankly, I think striving to give children a better life IS a pretty hot commodity.

Photo art by Gonzo Jenny

Book Burning: Not Just For Nazis Anymore

Green Eggs and Ham. Where the Wild Things Are. Corduroy. Charlotte’s Web. The Indian in the Cupboard. Little House on the Prairie. Goodnight Moon…

Which of these books should be banned from your local library?

The answer: All of them, according to Congress. The Consumer Product Safety Information Act (CPSIA), passed in August 2008 and enacted in February 2009, was intended to keep children from being harmed by products that contain lead.

That’s a noble quest, and an important one. The problem is, like so many well-intentioned regulations, the “safety net” was cast too wide. The results have been catastrophic for many small business owners, and may soon even be affecting your favorite public library.

The CPSIA requires that all products intended for children under the age of 12 are tested and certified as meeting the lead limits as set forth by law. “So what?” you might say. “That’s a good idea,” you might muse. I know I did.

The problem, as it applies to my library and my non-profit Friends of the Library group, is that some books published before 1985 were printed with inks containing lead. Some. Not many, but some books intended for children may contain lead in the ink.

It is important to note that the ink in books does not flake off, like paint chips. A child would have to actually eat the book in order to ingest any lead that might possibly be contained on the page. Furthermore, the amount of lead that a child might consume from the digestion of a book is so small that he or she would have to eat dozens of books in short order to ingest enough lead to be harmful. To quote citizen activist Sarah Natividad, “Even if you could find books with lead in them, a child would have to eat so many of them that the digestive consequences would kick in first.”

There’s a lesson here: If your allow your children to read books that were printed before 1985, you should absolutely discourage them from a diet comprised solely of books.

Too bad, because they are so good sautéed in butter. I suppose I’ll have to go grocery shopping now.

As the law is written, it prohibits the distribution of items intended for children that do not comply with the lead limits. How do we find out which books contain lead? We get them tested through an expensive process which, as it happens, destroys the book, or we get it tested through a different expensive process. Doesn’t really matter, because both are cost-prohibitive for most libraries. By the way, “distribution” does not have to be for profit, so it applies to our libraries.

At this point of compliance, your local library may have destroyed its inventory of pre-1985 children’s books through lead testing, but let’s just pretend that your library is warehousing the untested books. Now, they can legally a) restrict checkout of children’s books to patrons 13 years or older (“May I see your state ID card, please?”), b) stockpile the books for perhaps decades, until they become rare and valuable enough to be considered “collectors items” that are not likely to be used by children, or c) get rid of them.

Can’t sell them… that, too, falls under “distribution.” Let’s not put them in landfills… they could be loaded with lead, remember? Guess we’ll have to burn them!

The government doesn’t leave many options.

I am shocked that virtually no one in my world has even heard of the CPSIA, let alone its far-reaching consequences. The potential for devastation doesn’t just apply to libraries, either. Your favorite thrift store, crafter, school, youth club and more are targets. Even you run the risk of prosecution if you hold a yard sale and “distribute” items for children that contain lead. Many small businesses have already closed, unable to withstand the economic consequences.

A great citizen-organized website to visit for more information is http://whatisthecpsia.com. Start there. Get outraged. Write many, many letters to your lawmakers.

I’m not sure how so many members of Congress managed to vote in favor of the CPSIA without considering its catastrophic effects…

Perhaps they ate too many lead-laced books as children.


Congratulations, Congress! You've been awarded The Gonzo Mama's "Big Stinky Award!" Celebrate by giving yourselves a big raise, why don't you?


The above column was published in the Lake Chelan Mirror and on LakeChelanMirror.com. If you'd like to share your thoughts with the editor, you may do so here.

Bad Gratitude Monday

This weekend has been tough. I mean, really, really tough.

Especially tough is trying to emotionally deal with a child leaving home... and failing miserably. I'm not ready for Princess to leave, but she is going to, nonetheless, in just under three weeks. I'm sure I'll post more on that later.

Today, however, I am trying to focus on gratitude, and am sincerely grateful for these things:

1. Beloved and unknown veterans alike who served our country to ensure that today, I would have the freedom to write what I want, to say what I want, to celebrate Jesus the way I want, and so much more.

2. Mr. Wright, who made it possible for me to hole up in the bedroom all day, catching up on web updates, emails and blogs... even though all seven kids are out of school and making our home into a general madhouse. He even cooked for me, and made sure that I ate throughout the day.

3. My crazy-haired girl, Curlytop, who makes me laugh every single day, and makes me proud of how compassionate and empathetic she is.

What are YOU grateful for today?

The Defense of (My) Marriage Act

(photo from latimesblogs.latimes.com)

Since tying the knot with Mr. Wright in 2004, I’ve realized that not everyone who loves us actually loves the idea of us… together. In fact, many a bookmaker was put out of business when we actually made it to our first anniversary, beating every bet that our respective circles of friends threw down.

Yes, we have beaten the odds in making it this far. After all, we are the consummate odd couple; living proof that opposites attract. I attribute much of it to my exceptional improvisational skills.

Have you seen my act? It starts with a question – usually cried out in a state of disbelief – and wraps with my song-and-dance answer. I call it, appropriately enough, “The Defense of (My) Marriage Act.”

From my liberal friends: You married a conservative?! I did not, in fact, marry a conservative. I married a political geek who looks at every candidate’s voting record on every issue. We are, for lack of a better term, “independents.” That is, he votes for his preferred candidates and advises me to vote for the same candidates. I listen, nod my head, and independently vote for my picks.

Sometimes we agree, sometimes we don’t. Even when we don’t, it still works. Look at James Carville and Mary Matalin; Maria Shriver and Arnold Schwarzenegger. It can be done.

From my vegan friends: You married a hunter?! Oh, yes. I did marry a hunter. In fact, we are probably one of the only families in America to be card-carrying members of both PETA and the NRA. I will say that I have much more respect for omnivores who procure their own meat than those who buy their steaks from the meat counter at their favorite chain grocery. I mean, if you want to eat dead flesh, at least have the bullocks to do your own dirty work.

The meat my children and my husband eat was either hunted and killed by my husband, or raised by someone in our family. These critters lived out in the open, never got injected with steroids or ate feed made of baby chickens (fed into the grinder while still alive). I can live with that, and I assert that there is more integrity in the meat in my freezer than in the graying top sirloin cut on display at the Meat-o-rama.

From my mother: You signed your Christmas cards with “Love and blessings from the Greg Wrights…!” Yes, Mom. I did. I know it shocks you to think of me as a dependent, mousy woman who identifies herself solely through her husband, so let me come clean on this one. Our combined families are so huge, I couldn’t bear to hand-sign all of the cards. I printed out labels instead, and perfunctorily stuck them inside the cards. I used “The Greg Wrights” to differentiate us from the Gary Wrights, the Ted Wrights, and the Reverend Jeremiah Wrights… and, I was too lazy to type in all nine of our names.

From my ex-boyfriends: You actually found someone to marry you?! Next question, please…

You've Got (Hate) Mail

As I mentioned on Bad Gratitude Monday, The Gonzo Mama received her very first hate mail, cementing her place in the world of real columnists.

For those not lucky enough to live in the distribution area of the Lake Chelan Mirror, I'm posting the letter, in all its glory. The letter came from Judy Brezina of Carlton, Washington, and was written in response to my piece, "Forget Gitmo... I've Been Bikini Shopping."

Wright is wrong

Dear Editor,

I just received my Mirror in the mail today. I came to the letters page fully expecting there to be at least several letters referring to Ms. Wright’s incredibly ignorant, insensitive article last week. I didn’t write because I felt the bases were covered. It seems the bases are open so I’ll step up to the plate.

I’m not sure who to blame on this one, Ms. Wright or the editor. That was the most imbecilic article I have ever read, bar none. How can any sane person compare being held prisoner against every right we hold dear and tortured on a daily basis to trying on swimsuits? I want to ask very clearly, what were you thinking? Or were either of the above mentioned people even thinking at all? The article that Ms. Wright tried to be ever so clever writing actually made me sick to my stomach. What on God’s green earth ever lead you to believe you were a writer? Why did the editor let it pass? The piece is unacceptable. Period.

I looked up the word Gonzo: 1. idiosyncratically subjective but engagé; 2. bizarre; 3. freewheeling or unconventional especially to the point of outrageousness.

So, let me understand this. Gonzo Mama? Well, at least the bizarre part fits. Oh, and since I’m here and fired up, there are many people, myself included, that believe we should be extremely careful about overpopulation. Ms. Wright seems to be very proud of her ability to procreate. Personally, I don’t think it’s such a hot commodity. That’s why God gave us the brains to control ourselves.


Judy Brezina
Carlton


What do you think? Do you agree that I am a talentless imbecile? Should my editor be fired for printing my piece? Should I be sterilized? (Oops. Too late. She obviously doesn't read my column, or she'd know I only gave birth to one of my seven kids and can't have any more.)

You may respond to Ms. Brezina's letter online here or send an email to the clueless editor who posts my drivel, Les Bowen, at editor@lakechelanmirror.com.

Forget Gitmo… I’ve Been Bikini Shopping

So… they’re closing Gitmo. Rumor has it United States government agencies have been engaging in some pretty inhumane tactics at Guantanamo Bay Detention Facility in the hope of extracting information from detainees about alleged terrorist activities. Why does a leading world power like the United States waste resources on questionable physical and psychological tactics, which may or may not elicit confessions from detainees?

Wouldn’t it be cheaper and more effective to force prisoners to try on a never-ending collection of bathing suits that just don’t fit right?

Hmmm? What’s that? You say The Gonzo Mama’s finally showing the strain of mothering seven kids? You say she’s finally severed the last tiny thread of sanity she’s been clinging to?

Take my word for it. Choosing to try on bathing suits is the single most masochistic act a woman can engage in. In fact, the psychological torture is so great, we don’t even bring it up when conversations turn to the topic of human rights. It’s simply too shocking for those who have not experienced it themselves.

Imagine the horror of being repeatedly subjected to intense ridicule and evil laughter from dressing room mirrors as you try on, in exhaustive procession, every style of bathing suit offered in every department store in the known universe. Not terrifying enough? Imagine that all the designers of the world conspired each year to make you look fifteen pounds heavier than your actual weight by using the most unflattering cuts possible. Still not scared? Add another five pounds to your image, courtesy of “ulgy-fying” fluorescent lights in the dressing rooms.

Times are tough, though. Our economy is faltering, and our national deficit is unfathomable. I’m willing to break the code of silence for the greater good. Let’s talk about what is allegedly happening at Gitmo, and let’s talk about how we can accomplish the same thing with Lycra® or Spandex® swim attire.
If my program is successful (and it will be), it could be expanded to simplify interrogation processes for kidnappers, AIG officials… Martha Stewart.

Sleep deprivation. I’ve lost many a night’s sleep worrying and dreading an upcoming shopping excursion for the purpose of finding a bathing suit. Just knowing that I will be trying on suit after suit and succeeding only in accentuating my cellulite and stretch marks is more than enough to cause insomnia. Why make it someone’s job to keep a prisoner awake all night? Why not just hang a dozen bikinis over the door, with an attached note reading, “Tomorrow morning you’ll be giving a fashion show!” The payroll savings alone would be staggering.

Isolation. Prisoners at Gitmo are not allowed to have contact with friends and family. I suspect they are also not allowed to attend pool parties or beach barbecues. Ha! I guarantee, if those same prisoners were wearing an unflattering “tankini,” they’d be happy to stay indoors and answer a few questions.

Food deprivation. Seriously, this is a no-brainer. Most women willingly self-starve prior to bathing suit season. Enough said. Next topic.

Look, I’m not saying that things don’t need to change at Gitmo. I’m just asking if closing it down is really necessary. I mean, Guantanamo Bay sounds really pretty. In fact, I’ve heard it’s a great place for waterboarding.

That’s like surfing, right?

Parenting + Politics (results may vary)

The 2008 presidential election caused a firestorm of dissention in the Wright household, leaving the elder Wrights sadly shaking their heads. After all, we brought it upon ourselves.

“This is what happens when parents get their children involved in politics so early,” a friend lamented as I regaled her with our latest and very heated dinner discussion details. “What did you expect?”

Okay. Guilty as charged. I fully admit to schlepping my seven children into legislators’ offices – some before they were out of diapers. I concede to dressing my children in candidate’s t-shirts and marching them in parades all over the state. I confess that my children have rung more doorbells in more counties than perhaps Chris Gregoire and Dino Rossi put together. I’ve taught my children that every person in our country deserves to have a voice, and encouraged them to find their own voices. What did I expect, indeed?

I didn’t expect my oldest daughter, back in middle school, to recruit her friends and launch a letter-writing campaign against a practice she felt was unconscionable. It wasn’t just a phase, either. Today, as a high school senior, she remains an outspoken advocate for her cause and has chosen a career path that honors her belief.

I didn’t expect that my grade-school daughter would speak out against an assignment which required students to announce and defend their vote in the class’s mock election in front of the whole class. “I wrote in my journal to my teacher that in America, we have the right to vote without telling anyone who we vote for,” she reported. I have to admit, after years of vocalizing the virtues of democracy in the United States, I was one proud mama.

Call me naïve, but I really never expected that my children’s political views would or could be terribly different from mine and my husband’s. We raised them and guided them with the principles and values that we hold, right? This year’s election provided me with an unexpected reality check, when dinnertimes turned into debates, and family talks bordered dangerously close to family feuds.

We became a family divided, and I couldn’t help but wonder how we got there. The answer came to me one evening as five of our children loudly debated the environment, abortion and foreign policies: Our children found their voices. It didn’t matter if they weren’t agreeing with each other – or with their parents. They had strong opinions, and the courage to express them and make a stand. Isn’t that really what we’ve been teaching them, all along?

I must confess I was dying to know who our oldest daughter voted for on her first ballot. “Do you embrace the anonymity of your vote, or are you willing to share?” I fished. She smiled, but didn’t reveal her choice. That’s okay. She doesn’t have to.

Even grade-schoolers know that.

An expanded version of this story appears in Volume 6, Issue 1 of Reality Mom. Buy your copy today!