When public service tests family ties.

• Author: Warren, Jenifer
• Position: NCSL: The First 25 Years

For state lawmakers, balancing work in the Capitol with home life can be a strain when home is hundreds of miles away.

Consider the plight of the political spouse. While legislators frequently enjoy royal treatment and the heady sense of charting the state's future, their partners mostly stand in the shadows, weathering the hidden costs of public life.

They watch as family savings that might have bought a ski cabin or child's college education are sunk into all-or-nothing campaigns. They endure scrutiny from the press and, in some cases, frightening threats from angry constituents.

During election years, they stuff envelopes, walk precincts, shake a zillion hands. When the campaign ends, they typically stay behind to manage the household, tuck in the kids and wonder whether it's all worthwhile.

"It's not a very easy thing," says Leo Briones, whose wife is California Senator Martha Escutia. He should know. When the Legislature is in session in Sacramento, it is Briones - a political consultant - who drives one son to preschool and karate lessons in Los Angeles while also caring for the couple's newborn boy.

Family stress has always been a certainty in politics, and the whirl of controversy that engulfed President Clinton this year has reinforced this in a vivid way. In the California Legislature, family life has its own distinctive strains, and term limits may be making things harder than ever.

In decades past, many lawmakers moved their families to Sacramento rather than live apart while the Legislature meets Monday through Thursday for nine months of the year. A lifelong career in state politics was possible then, so relocating made sense.

Today, however, legislators know they will be forced from office later if not sooner - and many spouses have careers of their own. As a result, the vast majority opt to keep their families rooted in their districts.

The shorter tenures born of term limits also intensify the Legislature's draining work schedule. With a maximum of six years in the Assembly and eight in the Senate, lawmakers are tempted to overcommit - to public functions, legislative assignments - and often pay a price at home.

"We're men and women in a hurry to make our mark," explains Assemblyman Jim Cunneen, who commutes home to San Jose nightly from Sacramento when the Legislature is in session - a two-hour drive. "The consequences for your spouse, your family, can be painful."

For the most part, the political world doesn't much care. Indeed, the Legislature keeps no official record of lawmakers' family status - nor does it track trends in marriage, divorce and parenthood among its members. Although families are welcome at such special events as members' swearing-in ceremonies and summer picnics, they are otherwise mostly officially ignored by Sacramento.

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