When the governor of Maryland and his young family moved into the executive mansion in Annapolis, it was immediately clear the house wasn't designed for children.
For starters, there was no bathtub. The only refrigerator was an industrial-size, walk-in freezer in the basement. On their first night, as they gathered for their inaugural meal as Maryland's first family, the Ehrlichs felt a long way from the cozy four-seat Ikea table in their suburban Baltimore townhouse.
Maryland Gov. Robert L. Ehrlich Jr. and his 5-year-old son, Drew, toss a plastic football in the governor's mansion.
(Photo Grant L. Gursky for The Washington Post)
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"We sat down at this very long antique table in our private dining room -- this was supposed to be warm -- and we just looked at each other in disbelief," said Kendel S. Ehrlich, the governor's wife. "Then a chef walked in and asked us what we wanted for dinner. He said he could make anything we wanted. And we just laughed."
It's been two years since Robert L. Ehrlich Jr., 47, moved his family from a three-bedroom Timonium townhouse to Government House, the 54-room Georgian mansion that has been the official residence of every Maryland governor since 1870. And only now, said the governor, is it starting to feel like a home.
Raising a family behind the high wrought-iron gates of Government House has been a jarring adjustment for the Ehrlichs, who had their second child -- son Joshua -- last March. Ehrlich was the first chief executive to move into Government House with young children in 65 years, and to hear the couple tell it, the stately mansion was not exactly ready for them.
"It was really the one thing I was not prepared for," the governor said one day while tossing a plastic football in a private sitting room with his 5-year-old son, Drew. "The enormity of how your private life changes. I had been so focused on the job, I had not given any thought to the loss of freedom, the loss of privacy, the loss of my car, to moving my family from a neighborhood we knew, from a house we loved, to something like this."
The job of decorating the house fell by custom to the first lady. But Kendel, 43, a former public defender and a quiet partner in many of her husband's key political decisions, wasn't sure she was right for the task. "I had to learn not to get intimidated about decorating," she said. "You don't want to be inappropriate."
It's a lesson taught by history, and most memorably by the experience of Hilda Mae Snoops, the longtime companion of former governor William Donald Schaefer, who in the mid-1980s set out to undo what she considered the house's cold, museum-like ambience. Snoops overhauled seven public rooms in various shades of beige and blue, faced a hail of public ridicule over the $1 million price, and endured a seemingly endless stream of ribbing about her decision to commission a bronze lawn fountain in a style that the Baltimore Sun defined as "Chesapeake Rococo."
For Kendel Ehrlich, the first order of business was to make changes in the private quarters, which are rarely seen by visitors and have been almost entirely off-limits to the media since the family moved in. Her goal, she said, was to make that part of the house, at least, family-friendly.
She installed a tub in the third-floor bathroom nearest the children's rooms, and had the bedrooms painted and carpeted in comfortable beige and pastel hues. She imported Drew's bunk beds, and added a changing table, baby gates, a video monitor and a crib for Joshua, "which I ordered directly from the Pottery Barn catalogue."
Having children in the mansion also meant immediate changes to the rambling public space. The first lady ordered up several subtle but safety-conscious alterations, including raising the handles on the walk-in freezers so Drew could not get in by himself.
She loved the long cherry wood stairway banister that swoops dramatically down from the second-floor hallway into the main foyer. But she feared Drew could accidentally flip himself over the rail, so she had it raised six inches. Master carpenters were brought in to make the alteration appear seamless.
Drew knows, Mom says, that sliding down the banister is not an option. Still, she says she wants him to have a normal experience in this most unusual house, and that has meant adding a common touch or two. She installed an ordinary kitchen refrigerator in the private quarters, so Drew can grab a juice box or pudding without summoning one of the mansion's nine full-time staffers.
The new refrigerator, which is next to a play room, is decorated with school drawings, postcards and family photos. It wasn't long, however, before the first lady realized that furnishings alone would not make the house feel like a home.
