Let Me Tell You Something Read online

  My pinecones from the Vatican. I collected a bunch of these heavy pinecones from the garden of the Vatican. They were beside the bench where Pope John XXIII used to go and pray every day. I saw those pinecones and I scooped them up. I keep them at the center of my home in the Great Room so their energy comes up and goes all through my house.

  The Christmas balls that my mom painted for me. I used to get a new one every year for my tree. I treasure them.

  Framed artwork by the kids when they were little. Christopher used to think he was Picasso and he’d do these crazy paintings and give them names and everything. These paintings make me smile every time I see them.

  BEHIND THE SCENES

  People wrote and told me that they loved what I said at my brother’s wedding. I didn’t want to prepare a speech, I just wanted to speak from my heart, and I’m so honored that people liked it. What I’m glad you didn’t see is that as I walked back to my seat after the speech, I totally bit it on the wet grass! It had poured the night before the wedding, and the ground was soaked and muddy. The whole time I walked up to deliver my speech, I was sure I’d fall. I was glad that it happened on my way back to my seat, and I was even happier that Bravo decided not to air my big fall.

  My mother taught her daughters how to be the lady of the house, the head of the house. It wasn’t a role she took lightly. We should start the day off well, she would instruct us. Shower, get dressed, fix up your appearance so you are ready to face the world. Make yourself presentable. Never say good-bye to your husband in the morning with bad breath, while you’re wearing sweats and scratching at your crotch, she would say. Send your husband off with a kiss.

  I know that some of you are reading it and thinking that it sounds a bit Stepford Wives, or even antifeminist, but it’s not. It helps me to get myself all sorted out and feeling good before I start my day. If I let myself slouch around in pajamas with dirty hair and bad breath until lunchtime, it would depress me. I’d start to go downhill. By tending to the details of appearance first thing in the morning, I feel good about myself and I feel excited to get things done, every day. My mother believes that God is in the details, and that as long as we always take a second to make something as special as it can be, people will appreciate and enjoy our efforts.

  In my world, it’s the simplest things, like a smile and an I-love-you cost nothing. All of my kids have been raised knowing this, and they have all embraced my mother’s traditions. My boys are sentimental. They’ll save a note I leave them, they’ll save a fortune cookie from a special dinner. I’m very sentimental too. A picture of a moment captured can melt my heart. I have every piece of stupid macaroni jewelry they ever made for me. I have every note they ever wrote me, and pictures that they drew for me. When we lived in Wayne, there was a gift shop on the corner, and every week they’d all go there and buy me a gift and I still have every single one of them. They’d get me little statues of boys praying or a little rabbit or some dried flowers. The little things mean the most to me; I will cherish them always.

  Ask Caroline

  Hi Caroline, I’m a mother of two extremely active, adorable kids (ages two and four). How can I give them my constant attention while juggling everything else I have to do—housework, cooking, cleaning, and my full-time job?

  The old saying is true: a mother’s work is never done. You can’t be all things to all people at all times. Take a step back and give yourself breathing room. Children don’t need “constant” attention—that will only lead to separation anxiety whenever you leave the room. Supervise them, but teach them to play on their own.

  Plan your weekly routine, and stick to it. Prepare for school days on the night before, do your housework a little at a time rather than in one tedious lump. Stick to your schedule, and make sure you leave plenty of time for you and your husband. Me time is good for the soul—and it helps save your sanity on those tough days.

  You’re not alone. There are millions out there just like you. Your kids will grow and become more responsible sooner than you think, so stop now and smell the roses. And the poop . . . and the spit-up. You’ll miss it when it’s gone!

  PART III

  KIDS

  For spoiled kids, my kids

  worked their asses off.

  I’ll say it before you think it. I spoil my kids. I do. And I’m not ashamed of it. Nothing makes me happier than to treat them with something special. I’ve bought my kids cars, and they’ve always had the latest technological gadgets. If you watch the show, you may even think I give them too much. But before you judge, here’s something you might not know. While I’m the first to admit that I can overindulge them at times, as a parent, it was one of my top priorities to make sure my kids also developed a strong work ethic. Even from a young age, my kids have understood the value of hard work.

  Because Al worked such long hours, the kids were frequently at The Brownstone to visit him. It’s our family’s second home. It was clear to them that while Daddy wished he could be playing, he had to work to support the family.

  The boys started pitching in alongside their dad at The Brownstone when they were in elementary school. It really was something else to watch them. Eight-year-old Christopher was so proud of his job, polishing all the bottles at the bar for ten cents a bottle; he even made himself a business card. All the labels had to be facing forward, he kept a tab on how many bottles he polished, and if he got his count wrong, he didn’t get paid. If the bottles weren’t facing straight, no cash. It was so adorable to watch him, keeping checks and balances, acting like a little man.

  Albie was on cleanup patrol. If someone threw up he had to go mop it up. Some people said we were being harsh by giving him this job, but I didn’t see it that way. My kids are spoiled rotten, but when it comes to working hard, they don’t get any special treatment. It was important to us as parents that the boys didn’t automatically get cushy jobs just because they were the kids of the owners. We made sure that both boys had to work their way up. They started polishing bottles, then moved up to cleaning ashtrays and sweeping up cigarette butts outside. Not that they complained about it. I didn’t have to twist the boys’ arms to work. They wanted to, and they took pride in their jobs. I was such a proud mommy.

  When they proved themselves, the boys were graduated to loading trucks, working as valets, and finally managing the valet, handling hirings and firings. Once, when Christopher was managing the valet, one of the drivers hit a car in the parking lot. For insurance reasons, Christopher had to be deposed, at eighteen.

  When the insurance adjuster asked Chris to give his deposition, Chris asked if Albert would come into the questioning room with him. “Why, do I manage the valet?” Albert asked. You should have seen poor Chris’s eyes widen. But Al felt that Christopher needed to understand how serious a responsibility it was to be giving a deposition. Chris summoned the courage and did it by himself. He told the truth, he knew the facts and he stepped up and handled it like a man.

  I was incredibly proud of Christopher, because he literally worked his way to the very top. By the end of his time at The Brownstone, Chris had a desk beside his father. He wore a suit and oversaw the entire operation, just like his dad.

  Lauren worked around The Brownstone too. She didn’t do the hard manual labor that the boys did. But she checked coats, she took reservations, and then she started helping with the wedding parties. I remember once she came home and told me she’d had to put her head under a bride’s dress to fix her stockings. “That’s your job, Lauren,” I said to her. She just had to suck it up. But she did love the job, every minute of it. Well, maybe not that minute . . .

  Lauren was also always expected to help me around the house. She did laundry, she cleaned the refrigerator. She made the boys’ beds. The boys never made their beds, and she would complain about it, but I always told her that a girl needs to learn to be a good wife and mother. Call me old-fashioned, I don’t mind. But I was raised to believe it’s more important for the girl to learn to ke
ep a house than her brothers. I was very tough on Lauren in the house, and Al was harder on the boys at work.

  The kids were paid for the work they did at The Brownstone, but we never paid them an allowance for the work they did around the home. It’s not something I believe in—paying your children just because? For things they should be doing as members of the family anyway? It just didn’t make sense to me, and I didn’t want to send the message that they could expect money once a week just because they did something that they should be doing anyway. Sometimes the kids had nothing in their pockets, sometimes they had a hundred dollars. But they never got paid for nothing. It’s my firm belief that when kids have expendable cash that’s when problems start—who knows what they’ll do with that extra money, especially when they reach a certain age and pot, alcohol, and other drugs enter the picture.

  If the kids asked for money, we’d ask what for? If they wanted clothes, I’d go with them to buy the clothes. If they were going out, they had to tell us where they were going and they had to call us and let us know where they were. We never just gave them going-out money with no questions asked. But they were also never without. We got them the clothes they wanted, and they always had enough money to hang out with their friends.

  All of my kids have inherited our work ethic, and not one of them is a spoiled brat. When Christopher started the eighth grade, he saw a Rolex watch on a billboard, and he had to have it. He told his father that was the one thing he wanted. It cost four thousand dollars at the time. It was very expensive, and my husband told Christopher that it was fine if he wanted it, but he had to work for it. We wouldn’t buy it for him.

  Christopher was thirteen or fourteen, and he became obsessed with working for that watch. He never stopped, he was relentless. And by the time he graduated eighth grade, that summer, he had saved enough to buy it. It was just incredible to see as a parent. I went with him to the jewelers as he made the final payment, and took that watch and put it on his wrist. I’ll never forget the expression on his face. It was the first time I looked at him and saw the man that he would become. I was so proud I cried.

  I was reminded of Christopher’s watch recently when the boys moved to Hoboken. When Christopher was faced with having to pay $300 a month for a garage, he decided to sell his car and just take public transportation. When he comes to visit me, he either rides with somebody or he takes the train to Ridgewood, and somebody picks him up. He’s become a smart businessman.

  If kids want things that are out of reach, don’t kill that dream. If you can’t afford to get it for them, show them that if they work, they can get it. All dreams are attainable if you want to work for it.

  Because they always were putting in the work at The Brownstone and at home, it was easy to spoil them. They were good kids. And because of our parenting choices to push them to work hard and to not give them an allowance, I believe they understood the value of hard work and money better than a lot of their friends.

  One thing that makes me proud and lets me know we did the right thing is the fact that all three of my kids have a very strong work ethic. They have all grown into hardworking adults, and I still love to treat them to indulgences every now and then. But if you see one of them walk by some trash on the ground at The Brownstone and not pick it up, you let me know.

  Talking about sex with your

  kids may be uncomfortable,

  but it’s easier than an

  unplanned pregnancy.

  I’ve never understood why people think it’s hard to talk about sex with their kids. We potty train our kids, don’t we? The sex talk can be as funny, messy, and silly as toilet training. But it’s just as essential.

  The way we did it in our house was we first let the teachers at school take care of teaching the kids the nuts and bolts of sex. They get to hear all the funny stuff in a roomful of their friends, and it’s much less mortifying than hearing it from me or their dad.

  After that, Albert and I would follow up to let the kids know about the responsibility and the respect that go along with being sexually active. Al and I were always blunt and open with our kids. Once, I found a condom in Albie’s room, which told me he was either having sex or thinking about having sex. So I confronted him about it. I explained to him that I knew he was of the age to start hanging out with girls, but I wanted him to always respect a girl and never force himself on a girl. I wanted him to always treat women the way he liked to be treated, with kindness and empathy. That was the mom’s version of “the talk” with my son.

  Then I called Al and told him I’d found the condom and that it was time for him to have his version of that talk with Albie. I don’t know what Al said to him, it wasn’t ever my business. The open dialogue that we kept at home revolved around our kids respecting themselves and the people they were getting intimate with. It was never as open in my parents’ home, but that was a different time, and it was important for me to be more forthcoming with my own kids.

  As a mother, my message to Lauren was even more important. I was very matter-of-fact with her, telling her that she wasn’t a pincushion. I told her she never wanted to be the girl that guys don’t respect, the girl that guys talk about but never give the time of day. Anyone with a daughter needs to teach her that self-respect is the most important thing to have before you start to even think about sex. And teaching self-respect is something that happens in more than just one talk. You have to be vigilant with daughters. We all know how persuasive boys can be. It’s incredibly important to let a daughter know that her self-worth does not revolve around her popularity with boys.

  It’s ridiculous to pretend that your kids aren’t going to experiment with sex. Sure, some kids may not, but most of them will, and it’s up to you to make sure they know about contraception and also about HIV and other diseases. Seriously, if you do a good enough job of that talk, it’ll scare them off sex for at least a couple years.

  I was always the mother that all the kids came to with their sexual problems. Lauren would bring them to me and tell me their problems—this girl needed a morning-after pill, this girl was raped, this girl might be pregnant. I’d sit and talk to these girls and boys about their problems and then I’d take them to their parents.

  What I found most frequently was that these kids were just so terrified to talk about these issues with their own parents. And it just broke my heart to see them so alone, and so scared. Just because of sex. When I took them to their parents, it was never as bad as they anticipated. Parents were all teenagers once, and they know what goes on.

  At a certain age, there was a shift in how we communicated with the kids. I started pulling back with the boys. They’d go on spring break, and all I asked of them was a phone call each day to let me know they were alive. I never asked any questions about what they were up to. It’s not a mother’s place to be so invasive. They’d call to check in, and I’d just say I’m glad you’re having a good time. Later on, Albert would come home and say he’d talked to Albie and gotten the real story about his wild night, and we’d laugh. And that’s fine, my husband knew the daddy version and I got the mommy version.

  When my sons turned eighteen, my husband would get them a hotel room if they needed it. Albert would tell me if one of our sons wasn’t coming home on a particular night, and as long as I knew he was safe, I was OK with it. I wouldn’t call him or bother him or ask him about it afterward. I recognized that my son was becoming a man, and that the respect between us was a two-way street. I learned to respect their privacy.

  Even with Lauren, she’s twenty-three and she’s been with Vito for three years, but when he comes over he can’t sleep in her room. She has to respect this house. She’s in a long-lasting relationship with a guy she’s going to marry, but I have my boundaries.

  I admit that I’m stricter on Lauren than I am on the boys. Albie is now living with a girl, and when they come over and stay, I let her sleep in his room. But they’re living together. That’s different. If Lauren was living with Vi
to they could sleep together when they visited too, but they aren’t. It doesn’t work like that.

  These days, instead of talking about sex, the boys ask my opinion of the girls they date. Lauren is loyal to Vito, and I don’t pry into their bedroom. My kids have all made it through to adulthood with no unplanned pregnancies or other sexual problems. This makes me glad we were always open to talking to our kids about sex. Any parent who tries to raise her kids in denial of sex is just asking for them to get screwed!

  Principal, I want

  you to punish my kids.

  From the minute my kids went off to school, I knew the game had changed. They were no longer completely under my care and guidance. They would be influenced now not only by what I taught them at home, but also by what they learned from their teachers. The time had come for me to share part of my parenting duties with my kids’ new influences, so I enlisted the help of teachers, principals, guidance counselors. That’s what they’re there for! As a parent, I let the teachers teach, that’s their number one role. But I did value the guidance they gave me, and I always looked to them to help me become a better parent myself.

  Teachers loved the way Al and I parented our kids. They thought it was refreshing and uncommon. We weren’t the parents that said “oh, not my child!” We were the ones that said “if they did it, punish them.” They appreciated that we respected their position as educators.

  Ask Caroline

  Caroline, I’m the mother of a nine-year-old boy, and I was wondering what you think is the appropriate age to discuss the topic of sex.

  That’s a tough one. It depends on the child. Some kids mature faster than others, both physically and emotionally. Watch your son as he develops and make your decision about when to talk sex based on his maturity level, not his age.