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By Root 940 0

Judiciary Committee hearing. Emma Claire looked at the television and, at five, astonished me by asking, “Which one is Orrin Hatch?” I pointed him out, and she said he had a nice smile. “Politicians have nice smiles, Emma Claire,” I said, “but you can’t pay attention to that; you have to listen to find out if they have nice words, and the words have to…” I probably talked on for three or four minutes until, completely bored, she got up and went outside. It was the typical reaction I got from my children over the years. When Cate asked me a question, she had learned to complete it with, “One word, if you can, Mom. I don’t need a dissertation.” I may have left English graduate school, but I never stopped wanting to teach, and here was my—somewhat—captive classroom.

My main job for years to come will be—until I am nearly too old for it—raising children, but the raising of these youngest children took place with James Kvaal laying out the intricacies of health care policy and Orrin Hatch smiling from the television screen, with Adrian Talbott bringing by homemade olive oil for the children and the first bulky Internet telephones sounding their alarming rings, with John Auchard and me spread out across the library editing John’s book Four Trials, piles of papers around us, Elizabeth Nicholas bringing lunch and dinner so we could meet a deadline, editing sometimes with the Disney Channel in the background and two small figures sitting cross-legged on the floor between us, watching Mulan or Hercules or Mickey himself. I can say all this without embarrassment at my parenting, as I spent the day in which I am typing this at two soccer games and a baseball practice. But the truth is that in the chaos and the openness of our house was a lesson for these children, the lesson we had taught the children before them, a lesson that would serve them well: let it all in. The boy with the hickey, the speechwriter with the tender little voice, the academic with the analysis of health care costs—let them all in. There’s always room.

Of course, it was about to all come in, into our lives and our house. John spent the fall talking one-on-one to his advisors, consultants, and staff. He would open the discussion about whether he should run for the Democratic nomination for president, and then he would let them talk. Miles, Nick Baldick, Jonathan Prince, David, John Dervin (who knew more about John than he did about himself), and Bruce Reed (who knew more about running a political campaign than the rest of us). Although it was not unanimous—Mike Donilon, for example, said he should run but should wait until 2008—most of the opinions were that he should run now. John was so professorial in his questioning that even I did not really know what he would ultimately decide. And while he was deciding, he was laying out an agenda in a series of speeches on education, the economy, homeland security, even reform of the criminal parole system. The speeches moved the campaign forward, but they also did something else, something more permanent: they solidified the bonds we had been building. Jonathan was now firmly a member of this family; Stephanie Jones, who worked with John on the Judiciary Committee, brought her brilliance into the circle. Derek Chollet, who handled John’s foreign policy in the Senate office, found a permanent seat at the table. Wendy Button joined us, bringing not just her skill with words but a gentle sensibility as well. There were the more experienced voices, too, people like Bruce Reed and Gene Sperling, and though they were welcome, would always be welcome, we knew that they had seats at lots of tables. I think of them as you might the children of an amicable divorce: they’d do Christmas at your house but Thanksgiving somewhere else. Others were somewhere in between. Peter Harbage, Tom Donilon, and Michael Dannenberg come to mind. We tried, not always successfully, not to ask more of any of them than they were ready to give. It was selfish, really; we liked them and respected them and didn’t want them to have to make a choice that