On my publishing salary, it took a full year to save up enough money for the first month’s rent and security deposit. I also needed that time to convince my Italian mother that moving out of the house at 23 wasn’t the dumbest move ever. Once the yelling stopped and the savings added up, I grabbed a buddy and moved to Queens. I didn’t have to move — my family’s home was a short bus ride to New York City — but moving out was an imperative just the same. 

I craved independence and adventure, so spending my whole paycheck on rent and food felt like the right move for me. And I did have a marvelous time. But moving out also meant that I pissed away rent money for years. Steve and I didn’t own a home until I was 38, only due to a little help from my parents.

Our kids are technically adults — boys! [insert a snort and an eye roll] — but they are still home with us. Bucking the pressure for us all to go our separate ways, I think we’ll keep this band together. After all, remaining together in a multi-generational home is the best way to build family wealth, even if we annoy the hell out of each other.

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