But I also knew the fear and apprehension building up inside of me. I would temporarily lose my husband in the service of the nation. Bella’s care, and the care of my entire family, would fall predominantly on my shoulders. Our family life, that we had worked so hard to stabilize in the last few years since Bella’s birth, would be thrown into chaos. It would be a personal and political crucifixion.
I did not want it. I did not want the burden or stress of being back in the political arena. But I wanted to do what we believed was the will of God. I wanted to love and serve Him, and after much thought and many prayers, we believed this was God’s will for our lives. I knew in my heart that Rick should run for president of the United States.
Bella sat next to us in her high chair. She wrapped her hand around my finger, then burst into giggles. I smiled; then Rick and I both started laughing. I think she knew something had to break the intensity of my thoughts! Bella always brings joy, which is a particular blessing in such a moment. Her laughter reminded me of one of the biggest motivations Rick and I had discussed for becoming involved in the presidential race.
We knew that if the Affordable Care Act passed, lives like Bella’s would be marginalized and deemed unworthy of
“cost-efficient” care. It was the Affordable Care Act that put the fire in me. So, with all these reasons in mind, I knew what we had to do. “Yes, I will love you and support you,” I answered, then looked at Rick and smiled. Squeezing his hand, I said, “Let’s give it everything we’ve got.”
In June 2011, after months of prayer, conversation, and analysis, we announced that Rick was running for president. Standing on the steps of the Somerset County Courthouse in Pennsylvania, our family surrounded him as we began this journey together. We announced his candidacy in Somerset because that was where Rick’s grandfather had come when he emigrated from Italy in 1923. Like many other immigrants, Peter Santorum had come to America with nothing. He witnessed the rise of fascism in Italy and knew he would rather die than live to watch his children march with Mussolini. He wanted a better life for them, one where they would have the freedom to pursue the great “American dream.”
Leaving his wife and three children behind, he worked in the coal mines and saved every penny to bring them over. Five years later, their family was reunited in America; Rick’s father was seven. His family settled in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, where his grandfather worked in a coal mine until he was seventy-two. Two generations later, his grandson became a United States congressman and then a United States senator who represented the same state his grandfather had come to so many years before. Now, this grandson was announcing his bid to become the next president of the United States. Their story testified to the potential of the American dream. With hard work and determination, a coal miner’s grandson could realize improbable dreams.
On that warm spring day on the courthouse steps, Rick explained how his grandfather’s sacrifices made it possible for him to be there that day. Rick and I were committed to combating the growing power of government that threatened the realization of the American dream for so many others.
We assembled a team and got to work. But we had a lot to learn. Rick often quoted a line from one of his favorite movies,
Field of Dreams
, changing just one word: “If you build it,
they
will come.” And he was right, because as the months unfolded, more and more people arrived from all over the country to volunteer to work for the campaign. They believed as we did; it was the belief in Rick’s vision for America that sustained all of us. We worked tirelessly from first thing in the morning until late at night. We had no money and no media coverage. It was an uphill battle against all odds, to say the least. I remember looking at the early national polls from the summer of 2011. They were so discouraging and frustrating that I stopped looking at them.
During the campaign season, a typical day on the home front was filled with a different type of intensity than that of my husband. As a mom, I juggled the demands of family life while also trying to be as active on the campaign trail as I could. With seven kids, ranging from ages three to twenty, Rick and I became creative with our campaign strategies. “Family-focused” became a campaign slogan, but it was also how we operated. We understood the balancing act and just how humorous it often was. Sticky fingers, stained clothes, and frantic searches for a bathroom seemed to precede most of our events.
As his schedule became increasingly demanding, Rick told the kids that he loved them and missed them every day
and that he was doing this for them, because he wanted to heal the state of our nation. We discussed the issues with the kids frequently. The older ones were especially engaged, and we sat and listened to their thoughts on everything from war theory justice and medical ethics to immigration, education, and current events. We discussed some issues from a historical perspective, others from a religious and moral perspective.
During the nights Rick was home, we had an assembly line at our kitchen table for our mailings. We saved money and the kids felt involved. Rick signed the letters, one of the kids would fold them, one would stuff them in the envelopes, the unlucky third would lick the envelopes, and the last would stamp them.
As Rick traveled more and more, taking care of Bella became a twenty-four-hour job. Although we had a wonderful night nurse named Erin MacEgan with us during the campaign, her absence was certainly felt the nights she was not there. We often joked that Bella had a college student’s sleep schedule. Full of energy, she would stay up and want to play, often until the wee hours of the morning. People often watched a very tired mommy giving interviews!
In the summer of 2011, we packed up our family and moved out to Iowa for a little more than a month so Rick could campaign more easily. Our focus was rallying enough supporters to have a decent showing at the presidential straw poll in Ames. We told the kids this would be our family vacation, our summer “adventure.” (Insert a wink and a nod here.) Each of them was truly so sweet, supportive, and eager to campaign.
We packed up our Ford truck, old Suburban, and a Jeep, and hit the road. Our family of nine; Bridget; Erin; my dear sister-in-law Nancy, who is Rick’s scheduler; my ten-year-old
niece, Olivia; and my nephew Matt somehow fit our lives into a few cars and a precariously filled U-Haul trailer. It was truly a family affair. I’m pretty sure someone made a movie or TV show about this trip. I think it was called
RV
or maybe
The Amazing Race
!
From Pennsylvania to Iowa, it’s roughly eight hundred miles. And with Rick as the captain of the caravan, stopping was not an option. But little tummies and little bladders have a way of speaking very loudly. We stopped more frequently after choruses of “I really have to go!” and “Are we there yet?” I waited for Rick to confiscate anything drinkable within their reach, but the kids seemed to do a good job of getting rid of things on their own. The old expression is true that “there’s no use in crying over spilt milk.” I can also tell you that there’s no use in crying over spilt juice or formula.
There are many things I thanked God for on that trip, such as coloring books, magnetized travel board games, books on tape, portable DVD players, and twenty questions. I drove the Suburban carrying Bella, Peter, Patrick, Erin, and Olivia. I loved stealing glances in the rearview mirror. The three little kids had so much fun playing peekaboo with Bella. She’d squeal with excitement when one of them popped his or her hidden head up from the backseat. They’d given Bella one of her stuffed animals and played a lot of games with her. All I could hear from the driver’s seat was a lot of laughing and carrying on when they were awake and complete silence when they fell asleep.
Somewhere off Interstate 80, we found the world’s largest truck stop. (This is a real place.) In the gift shop, Peter and Patrick were in heaven among the John Deere tractor toys
while John and Daniel looked at the different camouflage gear. Elizabeth and Sarah made a beeline for the DVD rack through the dream catchers, beef jerky, and coyote T-shirts. After a hundred episodes of Veggie Tales, they wanted some variety but weren’t as excited about the selection there, even after Daniel tried to convince them that a documentary about engine building could be “really cool.”
Rick held Bella outside and walked around to stretch his legs and get some fresh air. We still avoided taking her inside crowded places, even when it wasn’t cold and flu season. Nancy and I went to Chick-fil-A to order lunch for everyone. “Yes, that’s correct,” I said to the girl at the cash register. “I did just order six peach milkshakes and eleven chicken nugget meals (with no drinks). To go, please.”
Nearly fifteen hours after starting, we crossed into Iowa. By then, the kids had lost track of how many corn and soybean fields we’d passed. As the passing landscape became increasingly flat, they started counting tractors, cows, and tractor trailers. Eventually we pulled off the interstate, and they narrowed their search to simply tallying how many cars passed us in the opposite direction. After driving through many quaint towns and down some dusty dirt roads, we made it to our destination: Oskaloosa, Iowa.
Steve and Jan Boender are some of the most down-to-earth, generous, and kind people I have ever met. When Rick was in Iowa on a previous trip, they had thrown their support behind our campaign after hearing Rick speak. Even though they had never met the rest of our family, they generously offered to let us stay in their converted barn, which provided plenty of space and a cozy home away from home.
One of my favorite memories with the Boenders is one of my first. After pulling up to the barn, we met and talked for a while. As Jan showed me around the barn, I realized Rick, Steve, and the kids had disappeared. I went back outside and still couldn’t see them. Laughter came from somewhere to my right, along with a rustling sound. They all filed out of one of the cornfields, each with an ear of sweet corn in hand. Rick ran over and said, “Karen, you’ve got to taste this! It’s delicious!”
Taste what? I looked at the corn. They were eating the corn right from the stalk! Rick laughed at my expression. I took a bite. It was the best corn I’d ever had! I had grown up working in a spacious garden and knew the huge difference in taste between fresh-picked tomatoes, green beans, and zucchini, and their store-bought counterparts. But I had never eaten corn like this! It was so sweet and warmed from the sun you could eat it right from the stalk, no boiling, butter, or salt necessary. Grinning, Steve told us this was a perfect welcome to Iowa.
For Jan Boender’s fiftieth birthday, she had jokingly told her husband that she wanted a lake. So Steve had started digging . . . and digging . . . and digging. Finally, after a lot of hard work with his backhoe, front loader, and trucks, he had dug a huge lake! It took him two years to fill it with water, and then he stocked it with fish and built a dock. It was the sweetest birthday gift I have ever heard of and a great act of love. Every morning I sat at the lake doing my spiritual reading and saying my prayers. It was a beautiful and peaceful place.
Unpacking all Bella’s equipment and supplies took up the entire evening. Traveling anywhere with Bella takes a tremendous amount of preparation. I pack backup supplies to the
backup supplies, just to ensure we are prepared for anything in case of an emergency. At home, I’ve organized a system of deliveries to meet all Bella’s needs. From oxygen to formula to feeding pump equipment, I know who is delivering what supply and when. But, when we decided to come to Iowa, I had to order nearly two months’ worth of supplies to bring with us. It was a tall order.
We set up Bella’s crib and placed many freshly laundered pink blankets inside it, creating a “Bella world.” I didn’t think she would feel at home without her pink blankets or her stuffed lamb and baby doll. I placed her vital monitor, feeding pump, BiPAP machine, and video monitor next to her crib. We stacked the formula in the fridge, unpacked her clothes, and stored the rest of her supplies.
As I finished, I left Rick to unpack his things. I walked outside onto the wide pine porch and sat down in one of the rocking chairs. The sun was setting over the lake in front of the house. Cornfields sprawled around me in the distance, and the crickets began to sing their twilight song. I heard splashing and looked at the dock. Peter had pushed Patrick into the water. Uncontrollable laughter ensued. Sarah sat in a chair, bouncing Bella, close enough to the action but far enough away for my comfort. Soon enough, the rest of the kids were in the water. Sarah and Bella stood up and watched happily as the others splashed each other. Then they began to twirl. The girls loved twirling with Bella. Around and around they went. I didn’t have to see Bella’s face to know how it looked. Breathless. Flushed. Giggling. Arms out like she was flying.
Over the next few weeks, Rick and I traveled across the state, usually with some of the kids in tow. Often the older kids
would head to the office in Des Moines to work at the phone bank. Bridget and Erin took charge of Bella’s care while we were gone, and knowing she was in their meticulous and compassionate care made my trips possible. During our days at the farm, we went fishing, Jet Skiing on the lake, swimming, and, the kids’ favorite, ATVing through paths in the cornfields. It was so much fun!
In the evenings, we joked that we had somehow found our way into
Little House on the Prairie
, and I absolutely loved it! Elizabeth played the piano while the rest of us sang, played board games, or read. In the midst of our intensely busy schedules, the Boenders had given us the gift of sanctuary. We could be a family.
Traveling from the northeastern United States into Iowa opened my eyes to many differences between the East Coast and the Midwest. In the Northeast, most people are overworked, overstressed, and buzz around nonstop like busy bees. And I was guilty. People in Iowa also work hard, but they make time for faith and family. Their slower, midwestern pace allows them to cultivate what’s important, and they enjoy life. What happens naturally in the Midwest seems to take so much effort in the Northeast. We sit down for family dinner every evening, but sometimes it’s a challenge to just get whoever’s home around the table.