together contact lists, calendars, and sample correspondence to help me find my
footing when it came to the social obligations that came with the title. There was
kindness running beneath all of it, a genuine love of country that I will always
appreciate and admire.
Though President Bush mentioned nothing directly, I swore I could see the
first traces of relief on his face, knowing that his tenure was almost finished, that
he’d run the race and could soon head home to Texas. It was time to let the next
president through the door.
While our husbands walked off to the Oval Office to have a talk, Laura led
me to the private wood-paneled elevator reserved for the First Family, which was
operated by a gentlemanly African American in a tuxedo.
As we rode two floors up to the family residence, Laura asked how Sasha
and Malia were doing. She was sixty-two years old then and had parented two
older daughters while in the White House. A former schoolteacher and librarian,
she’d used her platform as First Lady to promote education and advocate for
teachers. She inspected me with warm blue eyes.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“A little overwhelmed,” I admitted.
She smiled with what felt like real compassion. “I know. Trust me, I do.”
In the moment, I wasn’t able to fully apprehend the significance of what she
was saying, but later I would think of it often: Barack and I were joining a strange
and very small society made up of the Clintons, the Carters, two sets of Bushes,
Nancy Reagan, and Betty Ford. These were the only people on earth who knew
what Barack and I were facing, who’d experienced firsthand the unique delights
and hardships of life in the White House. As different as we all were, we’d always
share this bond.
Laura walked me through the residence, showing me room upon room
upon room. The private area of the White House occupies about twenty
thousand square feet on the top two stories of the main historical structure—the
one you’d recognize from photos with its iconic white pillars. I saw the dining
room where First Families ate their meals and popped my head into the tidy
kitchen, where a culinary staff was already at work on dinner. I saw the guest
quarters on the top floor, scouting them out as a possible place my mother could
live, if we could manage to talk her into moving in with us. (There was a small
gym up there as well, which was the place both Barack and President Bush got
most excited about during the guys’ version of the tour.) I was most interested in