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Forget 9-to-5. Mothering knows no schedule—often it feels more like 5-to-9 and everything in between. In this series, we look at the hectic, messy, sometimes beautiful, often frustrating enterprise of being a mother—and maintaining a life of your own. Consider it a “day in the life” for the forgotten hours. Today, we’re following writer Sarah Hoover, whose book, The Motherload, is out now. Read earlier installments of 5-to-9 here.
I launched my book, The Motherload, this week with a signing hosted by McNally Jackson, a talk with Busy Philipps, and a party at Socialista. I was very nervous, and my dad forgot the beta-blocker he promised me, but Busy waltzed in with a bottle of wine and a wine opener because, as a mother of two, she thinks of everything, which is literally what The Motherload is about.
Here I am showing Busy pics of my kids. I have a strong “no FaceTiming the children while out giving book talks” policy because those little lawyers use it as a chance to negotiate things like “How much TV can we watch?” and “What time are you coming hommmmeee?”
After the talk, I went straight to my husband, Tom, to give him a hug, but most important here is this angle of my fabulous Chanel look.
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When I walked into Socialista at Cipriani Downtown, my dear old friend Angelo Bianchi had piles of my books everywhere. I didn’t cry because the mascara situation would have been catastrophic, but it did make me emotional.
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The next morning I started my day by letting my kid eat donuts for breakfast. I figured by the time the sugar hit, I’d have dropped him at school and it would be a not-my-problem situation. I look like I was run over by a car, and that’s because I stayed out dancing until way too late, which for someone my age is apparently 10:45 p.m.
But thankfully, I have buddies like Hannan Siddique and Quinn Murphy who know how to airbrush the mess away! Starting your day with two delightful men calling you pretty and brushing your hair is unparalleled. It is better than having a hot buttered croissant with freshly squeezed orange juice and crispy bacon, and I don’t throw that sentence around lightly.
I got myself dressed and made it up to Saks for lunch in honor of The Motherload. I ran into Charlotte Groeneveld on the way up. We stopped to take this even though I was so hungry from not eating any fried shrimp or creamy baked tagliolini at Socialista, which was a huge and embarrassing mistake on my part. I don’t make the same mistake twice, though, and this is me getting collected and centered on for an intense game of “How do I order both entrées at once so I can taste test?”
The table was so gorgeous: flowers by Emily at Flowerbx. And while we are on it, can we discuss why it’s so hard to send flowers? You have to call way ahead of time to order, there’s no confirmation of delivery, and you don’t know what they look like ahead of time. And did the note arrive? Was your name spelled right? Was the vase pretty? Emily texts and does things quickly—same day! She never misses. Anyway, I am wearing Chanel head to toe, which is one of my favorite things to do—though I’m still incredibly hungry.
I had the yellowtail tartare with jalapeño, one of Nell Diamond’s crispy chicken spring rolls, and then the miso salmon. Stole fries from the share plate. A perfect, syrupy, bubbly Diet Coke over ice with lemon. Oh, and baguette with salted French butter. Nicky Hilton told me that L’Avenue flies it in from France. Is that true? We will never know, but I’d like to spread the rumor. I was so inspired by my own food choices that I even stood up to make a short toast.
Tragically, I had to leave before my cheesecake came because I had to get downtown to sign books. Here, I am saying bye to Beth Nicely and Leigh Lezark. Leigh doesn’t smile, but neither would you if you had her cheekbones. I left lunch carrying my own signed book. Is that narcissism, or is it practical?
Entering The Strand, one of my favorite bookstores in the world. It’s been owned by one family since it started! I’m about to see my book on shelves for the first time. Drumroll, please!
We found her!!! New-nonfiction section! First floor! While I was there, someone came in and bought 10 books for a bunch of people, including her therapist. Okay, that person was my friend Abigail. But it was still a fun coincidence!
Quick pit stop to take baby Fred out for fresh air, which she was skeptical about. This field trip involved a cappuccino for me and some people watching for her. If you’ve never had a cappuccino made with half and half, I suggest you immediately reevaluate your relationship with full-fat dairy as well as your life.
Quick change and on to Brooklyn Heights to meet the incomparable Jenny Jackson at Books are Magic so that we could do a talk and book signing. Jenny is a boss lady at Knopf, one of the best publishing houses in the world. She also wrote a wonderful book called Pineapple Street! She is one of the best interviewers I’ve ever sat with, and I think she should do a Knopf podcast with all their authors. Trust me, Jenny. Get that podcast money.
I’m not sure if this is customary or due to how much I spoke about my explosive feminine rage during my talk with Jenny, but they locked me in this closet to sign books.
My first bite of food since lunch. I mean, it was only about five hours in between meals, but I was panicking. Panicking, I tell you.
My best friend from high school, Marina, flew in from Milan for my party on Monday night! Again, I brought a signed copy of my own book to dinner. How long until this is a personality trait?
This is when we ordered the nightcap bottle of Champagne. We thought we were so smart.
This is when we knew it was time for bed. The Motherload book tour is just beginning!
