On Why I'm Glad I'm Only "First Lady" Of The Malmo Manse:

When  my husband has to stay late at the office I can wave at him from the kitchen windows.

If he makes a mistake, he just has to own it and make it better, not worry that it could lead to the destruction of the free world as we know it.

People may be watching us, but generally from at least a mile away. If they're closer than that, chances are I'm watching them watching us and they'll get uncomfortable first. Especially if I wave.

People aren't speculating on the value and designs of my clothing, nor discussing how well, or not, I look in it. At least not on National television. Yet.

I don't have to get dressed in the morning if I don't feel like it, because my house isn't over-run with staff or tourists. Yet.

It took me less than an hour to find all the rooms in my new house. I didn't need a map of the floor plan to keep them all straight. I have yet to get lost in it.

I can go for a walk, or drive into town at will. Unescorted. 

The child who lives in our basement is not the First Son. He knows his place.

If privacy became an issue, I could close the blinds.

Having the eyes of the world on me every hour of every day, and living with the man who's carrying the weight of the mess that is the U.S. economy, the "war on terror" and a super-power nation in decline would be more draining and heavier than I can ever imagine wishing my life to be. 

God give them strength.

And peace.

And safety.