Let Me Tell You Something (19 page)

I hate it when my kids
break up with someone.

I always become friends with the people my children have in their lives. And when they break up with them, I always cry. I tell my boys I'm getting tired of falling in love with these girls, they break up with them, and it's like I break up with them! I am sick of it.

I'm going through the most complicated version of this right now. Albie's dating this girl, Lindsay, and I love her. I'm not sure if they're going to make it, but I know that I care for her deeply and I want to be there for her, regardless of what is going on between her and Albie.

Viewers of the show will know Lindsay, she was a big part of season four. She moved into that madhouse apartment in Hoboken with Albie, Chris, and Greg, and I knew it was a mistake. She was basically dating a full house, with a TV show being filmed at the same time. For a young girl who'd led a sheltered life, it was too much to handle. So she decided to move out.

She made this decision to move while Albie was in California on a business trip. Lindsay and Lauren have become good friends, and Lauren was the one who told me that Lindsay had decided to move out—and she was moving the next day.

I was shocked, but I was more surprised by what I heard next: Lindsay planned to do the whole move by herself. She was going to hire a taxi for the day and just move herself into a fourth-floor walkup. I called her right away and said, “I'm not going to take no for an answer, I'll be at your place at eleven to help you move.”

I took Lauren with me, and it ultimately took the three of us three days to move all her stuff, in the back of my truck. I developed bursitis in my shoulder from lugging all that crap up four flights of stairs. During the move, Albie told me to take his entire bedroom set and give it to Lindsay, and that he'd sleep on the couch when he got back from California.

When we were finished moving her into her new place, I looked around and noticed that all she had was lots and lots of clothes and lots of personal items, but absolutely none of the essentials that you need to set up house.

That night I went home and went through my basement, through all those boxes that we all accumulate over the years, and pulled out boxes of unopened cutlery, glasses, pots, plates, and other stuff she needed. I packed up my truck the next day and took it over to her.

Throughout the move, I kept thinking, if this were my child, I'd hope someone would take care of her like this. The first night she moved, she had nothing, and I invited her to sleep at my house. She didn't want to, but I insisted.

Later that night, Al could tell something wasn't right with me, and he asked what was bothering me. As I tried to answer I just burst into tears.

“This poor thing,” I said. “She's going to be going to an empty apartment every night. She walks up forty-eight steps alone to an empty apartment. She doesn't have any family around her, she has nobody.” Al just looked at me with those big eyes. Then he said, “Stop crying, tomorrow we'll go buy furniture for her apartment!”

As I said before, Al says that my tears are his Kryptonite. He can't bear to see me cry. He can't function when I'm sad. So the next day we went and furnished her entire apartment. I didn't tell her what I'd done, but I had to call her and tell her to take the following Tuesday off work. She asked why, and I told her because her furniture was coming.

I explained it was my way of saying thank you for making my son happy and that I hoped they could work things out but if not, that was OK too. She was helping Lauren in her store, and in the early days of Cafface we couldn't afford to pay her much, so the furniture was my way of saying thank you. It gave me peace of mind.

When she went home that day, she had a home.

I told Albie that Lindsay came into his life, and whether she stays with him or not, she also came into my life. And one day when he becomes a father, he'll understand why I did what I did for her.

I'm fifty-one, but in my
head I'm seventeen.

Every day, I forget that I'm middle-aged. I still have the same spunk and drive that I had when I was seventeen. I still have the same excitement about trying new things—like signing on to do the show. Back then, I would have taken the bull by the horns and given it my all. Today nothing has changed. I still want to ride the wave and see where it takes me.

The only difference now is that when I look in the mirror, I see my mother staring back at me. I look down and see my mother's hands. And that's always a shock. “Where the hell did you come from?” I ask my reflection. That's when it hits me, I'm fifty-one.

In my mind, I'm seventeen, but physically my body is starting to feel fifty. I used to be able to run so fast; I loved to run. Now I can't. My eyesight is shot. I can't see a damned thing. When I helped Lindsay move into her fourth-floor walkup, I thought nothing of it—until I developed bursitis and needed heavy painkillers, getting cortisone shots in my shoulder!

Once I realized that my body was starting to get creaky, I decided that if I want to remain seventeen in my head and not be limited by my age, I needed to keep this body of mine as healthy as possible. My body needs to be as fit and active as my mind. I got busy.

Al built an amazing gym in the basement for the boys when they were teenagers. It's time for me to start using it. I even went and got a trainer who's going to come and make sure I do. I'm lifting weights and stretching and getting myself back into fighting shape. So far, so good, although it hurt like a bitch for the first month—but I just remind myself that it's going to take work if I want to keep thinking that I'm seventeen!

I've always eaten in moderation; I've always known when to stop. But hitting fifty has been a huge wake-up call. I don't metabolize as quickly as I used to.

I'm very conscious now of how I eat. I can't eat a dozen chocolate chip cookies at midnight anymore. I have to treat my body better than that. I've started eating fewer carbs, smaller portions, and more protein.

I'm not in denial. I'm not trying to freeze time. We all age, second by second by second. But I'm going to try to preserve myself as well as I can because I want to be around for a lot longer. Heart disease, high blood pressure, diabetes, all these things are now circling me, and I don't want anything to do with them.

I have a husband who's young at heart. I have three kids who keep me on my toes. And one day I hope to have grandchildren who will make me laugh. I'm going to do the best I can to be healthy enough so that my body can be almost as agile as my seventeen-year-old spirit. Let me tell you, I'm going to be the most kick-ass eighty-year-old you ever saw.

Always try to look your best;
there's no reason to scare
yourself every time you
pass the mirror.

Looking your best is easy. I know, you're probably thinking “easy for you, if you have a team of stylists getting you ready for a Bravo taping.” But it really doesn't take a lot of time, and it doesn't take a lot of props to look good. I'm not talking about six-inch heels and a full face of makeup. If that's your thing, fine. But if you've watched me on the show, you'll know I'm OK with keeping my beauty routine, more . . . natural. When I say look your best, I mean put in some effort. As women juggling it all, it's easy to give up in the beauty department. But shampoo your hair, tidy up your nails. Make sure your clothes are clean and that they fit nicely! Nobody wants to see you looking like a hot mess with dirty, unkempt hair, chewed nails, and spaghetti sauce down your shirt. You can wear jeans, a T-shirt, and flat shoes and still look like a million bucks. In fact, that's my go-to look.

Don't get me wrong—I love to get dressed up. I love silly clothes. I love skinny jeans. But at fifty-one, I will only wear those skinny jeans with a blouse and ballet flats, not with Louboutins and a low-cut top. That's not age appropriate for me. I don't want to dress like my daughter, I want to dress like me.

It doesn't matter what shape you are, you need to first be aware of your age, and your stature. If you're a mom and a wife, you need to dress in a way that doesn't shame your family. With my body, it's too easy for me to look like Jessica Rabbit. I'm short and I'm a bundle of curves. The last thing my kids need to see is me leaving nothing to the imagination. It's just creepy when a mom tries to be too sexual in front of her kids. I've never been into fads or current fashion. I think the key is to know your body and what clothing suits your body best.

I don't have a complicated beauty regime or secrets to share either. I have beautiful skin because my mother has beautiful skin.

You don't have to use expensive creams—but the bottom line is, your face needs moisturizer. It doesn't know the difference between the five-buck baby lotion from the drugstore and the most expensive luxurious cream from the department store. I used to put baby oil or Vaseline on my face at night and wake up with the smoothest, softest face. I also never ever go out in the sun anymore. When I was younger I loved tanning, but I'm too fair-skinned, and I don't want to end up looking like a prune just to try to get bronzed. These days I buy the highest SPF I can find; I usually wear the one they make for children. I have to be so careful. Ten minutes in the sun, and I'm in trouble.

My beauty routine each day, including my shower, is under a half hour. I wear little or no makeup. Sometimes I even forget to put makeup on for the red carpet. I get all the way to an event and realize I forgot. I just shrug and say,
screw it
, I'm not here because these people love me for my long fake eyelashes. I'd like to think they like me for what I stand for.

But even without the makeup, I always make sure I look presentable. If you think you've become a hot mess, turn it around. Be the best you there is. You've got three kids and no time? I was there. If you have to shampoo your hair at 2:00
AM
, so be it. I used to put all three kids on the bathroom floor while I showered. I'd give them games to play and I'd pop my head out of the shower every two minutes and check on them. There's no reason for sloppiness. You should never look like you just got dragged through mud. Take a little care with yourself, take a little pride in yourself, and you'll be amazed at how much better everything else feels . . .