Something New by Janis Thomas Page B

not knowing what to write about.
    Before I gave up writing in favor of full-time subservience—I mean motherhood—I never lacked for subject matter. But I always gave myself a set amount of time to allow my brain to have a party. This was my preparation. I would do mindless tasks while my subconscious worked out the details of what would eventually end up on paper.
    As I gaze at my tattered, almost illegible recipe, which I no longer need, I decide that I will let my subconscious take over while I make the cheese balls. I will allow the cooking to be a meditative experience that will unlock all kinds of fresh and wonderful ideas. Okay, I’m hoping for just
one
idea, but I’m trying to be positive. And I promise myself that when I am done with the cheese balls, I will sit down at the computer and enter the stupid fucking blog competition.
    Damn that Ben Campbell, anyway.
    Stay positive
, I tell myself.
You can do it, Ellen. You’re a writer. So, you’ve been on hiatus for a while. A long while. It’s like riding a bike, right? Just go with this.
    I empty out the contents of all the containers into the mixing bowl, feeling the quiet energy of my ruminations as my mind begins to swirl with a vast array of inspired thoughts, tapping into the mysterious reserves of my untapped gray matter…and then the phone rings.
    “It’s all settled,” Jill states adamantly, then proceeds to explain how she has made it possible for me to attend book club by pawning my children off on her husband.
    “Greg hates my kids,” I retort. “There’s no way he is willing to watch them for the entire evening.”
    “He doesn’t hate them,” she says sternly. “He just thinks they’re a challenge.”
    “Mentally challenged,” I say. “He called them that the last time we all got together.”
    “He was drunk!” she cries. “You can’t listen to him whenhe’s drunk! Trust me. Anyway, he offered to take them along with the
D
s. Bowling. Burgers. Boomers. They’ll love it!”
    Greg offering to take my kids for the night is akin to the Dalai Lama unleashing a hailstorm of bullets from an AK-47. I know Jill put him up to it, and I wonder just what she offered him in return. A night of sex with his buxom receptionist is my guess.
    “He’ll lose them, Jill. On purpose. I know that man. He’d lose his own kids if he thought he could get away with it.”
    “That’s not fair. Greg’s a great dad.”
    “Yes, Jill, he is,” I say, acquiescing. Getting into an argument with Jill over Greg’s questionable parenting skills is not worth the stress it will cause her, especially when she’s already on the verge of a breakdown.
    “Look, it won’t just be Greg. Ralph Herman and Kevin Savant are going with their kids, too. Maybe Jonah can meet them at Boomers after his dinner.”
    I stare down at the stainless-steel bowl that is filled with Neufchatel, Romano, grated English Cheddar, eggs, and a plethora of spices. This is going to be a great batch of cheese balls; I can just feel it. The mother of all cheese balls. They will go perfectly with the organic red wine Jill always serves. A perfect compliment to the spanakopita and pastry puffs that always grace her buffet. Just the right precursor to the warm molten truffle bites that she buys from Bristol Farms but claims to have made herself.
    It looks like I am going to book club tonight, even if it means having my children abducted from right under Greg’s nose.
    “Okay. They can go with Greg.”
    Jill’s cacophonous sigh echoes over the phone line. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “I just can’t do this without you.”
    “Yes you can,” I argue. “But I’ll be there.” I let a fewseconds pass, then ask, “So, what’s Greg getting out of the deal?”
    She laughs without mirth. “I promised him oral.”
    Wow. Jill must really want me there tonight. She likes oral about as much as she likes natural childbirth. Have I mentioned that she screamed for an epidural as soon as