I kinda love doing polls.  It combines the fun of forced feedback with the reassurance that there are actual people out there actually reading this, even if there are only twelve of them.  I mean, I know my footprint log shows lots of hits, some from exotic locales like England (well, the UK), France, Russia, South Korea (Hi, Young Queen!  Hi, Big Brother!), and New Brunswick (um, hi to you too!).  But for all I know those could be webcrawlers and search engines, and, you know, stuff.  So it's nice to know that I have readers, real live readers, readers who take polls.

It seems that, according to my latest poll, my readers are kinda split between feeding the Football Seniors (and doesn't that sound like a group of Grandpas hobbling around the field with their walkers?) either Pasta or Oven Fried Chicken, with multiple votes going to each of the other choices, except pizza.  Considering that I knew that one of the votes for Oven Fried Chicken was mine, I decided that pasta had won, and started to plan accordingly.  Spaghetti and Meatballs sounded boring, I can't eat most kinds of cheese, so Lasagna or most other baked pastas were out.  I wanted the boys to get a healthy dose of protein with their carbs, and Boy-O had kept talking about chicken, which led me to Chicken Parmigiana.  I looked up some recipes online, and it seemed easy enough.  Pound chicken breasts, bread same, brown in skillet, bake with tomato sauce and cheese.  No problem.  And this is why, at about 3:30 yesterday afternoon, I was up to my elbows in 15 lbs of raw chicken, over a dozen beaten eggs, three canisters of bread crumbs (Italian Style), and various combinations of the three, not all of them entirely appetizing, plus two skillets sputtering away on the stove, and a kitchen table half covered with jars of spaghetti sauce.  It was, shall we say, exciting.  At one point I spattered hot oil on my arm, but didn't have time to tend to it, and promptly forgot about it except when I accidentally touched the burn and pain reminded me.  (This morning at work I pushed up she sleeve of my sweater, and was startled to see blisters.  "Oh, yeah,"  I thought, "I did burn myself, didn't I.")

Somehow, about three hours later, all of this resolved itself, with the help of my Mom, Aunt S, and Johnsy, into a serene still life of food: two big pans of Chicken Parmigiana bubbling appetizingly under its covering of cheese, another pan of spaghetti, the big pot of extra sauce on the stove, the lovely salad on the kitchen table, and the huge basket of home baked bread (that I, um, stayed up most of the night Wednesday night to bake) beside a truly monumental bowl of Spreadable Crack.

And then the boys ate it.

Well, except for the salad.  They didn't touch the salad.  Aunt S, who made it, was a little disappointed, I think.  But not me.  They might not like salad, but I do, and I'm happy to have it in my fridge.  There were lots of other leftovers too, including enough chicken to send some home with Boy-O and still have some to freeze for later, spaghetti and sauce, and such an abundance of Spreadable Crack that even Johnsy (who has been known to hide it in the fridge) will be satisfied.  We had brownies too, made by Johnsy, which the guys seemed to really like.  (Btw, a little love goes out to the people who chose "Football players don't deserve dessert." on the poll.  What can I say?  I'm a band geek at heart.)  On the whole the guys seemed to like everything.  It was a little hard to tell.  They were almost preternaturally polite.  I don't know if I've ever been called Ma'am so many times in one evening.  It was awfully cute.  But then, I find that my instinctive reaction to teenage boys in general tends to be of the "Aw, look at the cute widdle teenager!  So cute!" variety.  I try hard to repress this, since I know it would most emphatically not be appreciated, but I'm afraid it tends to leak through on occasion.

All in all it was a good evening.  The boys left almost immediately after they were done eating (it was a school night and all).  It was kinda funny.  I happened to be standing at the kitchen counter sortof near the trash can when the mass exodus began.  It became almost like a receiving line.  They came into the kitchen with their disposable plates and silverware, deposited them in the trash can, and politely said good-night and thank you to me on their way out.  After we cleaned up I took Boy-O home (do you know how awesome it is to have a baby brother who volunteers to stay and help clean up?), then returned to watch part of Galaxy Quest and the new episode of The Mentalist with Ani.  And it was good.

Also, Ani says that our kitten Baby is most definitely a him.  So we don't need to wonder about that anymore.  Whew.

So you know that line about plans, something like "Man proposes, God disposes."  Yeah, that was what my weekend was like.  I had planned to go to Boy-O's football game on Friday, pass out candy to the neighborhood kids on Saturday, and then go off dancing with my "Nudists Local #1654 ON STRIKE" badge as a costume.  It was a good plan.  The problem was that as I finished up work Friday evening and headed home, I started to develop a really nasty headache.  The closer I got to game time, the worse it got, and I realized that a football game, with the cheering and bright lights, etc., was just about the last place I wanted to be.  So I texted people my regrets, laid down, and was out like a light almost before my head hit the pillow. 

Various texts letting me know the progress of the game (we lost 21-0) didn't wake me, but a phone call about 11:30 did.  It was Aunt B informing me that there was going to be a Family Dinner the next night at her house honoring Aunty C, and my presence was both Requested and Required (mega bonus points if you catch that allusion).  I was trying to figure out a way that I could both attend the dinner and still give one of my swing kids a ride to the dance, but then the girl in question messaged me letting me know that she wasn't sure that she was going to the dance anymore, and if she did go, her boyfriend would drive her.  So instead of dancing the night away, I ended up heading over to Aunt B's house.

While I was there, the funniest thing happened.  As I have mentioned, Boy-O is a Senior this year, and somehow my mom became the Senior Football Mom.  (Which is incredibly ironic, as my mom is about as far from the iconic football mom as you can get - I don't think she even owns a turtleneck to wear under her team sweatshirt.)  Her main duties involve making the arrangements for the Senior Football Dinners.  Traditionally all the Senior football players go to dinner at someone's house the night before the game, and she's in charge of coordinating who's turn it is to host them.  Only, since next week's game isn't part of the regular season, she hadn't arranged for anyone to do it, and didn't feel up to doing it herself.  Mom said that she would pay for the food, but she needed someone else to do the work.  And somehow I found myself, well, volunteering to do it.  Consequently, I will be having 17 HS football players over to dinner at my house Thursday night.  I know.  Surreal.

I've been getting advice from various people about what I should serve.  My initial plan involved large pots of chili plus cornbread, but then I asked Boy-O what he and his teammates really liked.  He immediately waxed downright poetic describing a recent dinner that involved large amounts of hot wings and jalapeno poppers.  (The jalapeno poppers came in for special notice - I think he mentioned those seven or eight times.)  I took this under advisement, and rather than be a copy cat, decided to fall back on one of BMIWW's classic menus, Oven Fried Chicken Drummies with Twice Baked Potatoes.  This seemed to have a lot of fans (Mick immediately tried to invite himself over to share in the feast), but then last night I asked Xtiano (who recently was a HS football player) what he thought.  To my surprise, he came down strongly on the side of pasta, especially with lots and lots of bread sticks.  Carbs, he seemed to think, were the important thing, and baked pasta dishes were one of the ideal ways to consume said carbs.

Now it is true that if I made pasta I could also bake bread, and make an extra large batch of my Spreadable Crack to go on it.  But I could do that if I made the Chicken Drummies too.  And while Xtiano seems to think pasta is Teh Awesome, Boy-O didn't mention it in his List of Highly Favored Foods.  Boy-O seemed to lean much more heavily towards chicken items, and also spiciness.  Which brings me back to chili.  I'm just not sure.  Consequently, I have created a poll to help you, my dear readers, figure out what I should make.  I'm going grocery shopping sometime tomorrow, so you have about 24 hours to either take the poll or leave a comment telling me what you think I should do. 

Also, I should mention that I am having a BIG SALE in my Etsy shop this week.  In honor of getting more than 100 Shop Hearts (I am currently at 111), I have taken 10% off everything in the store.  You're welcome.  Now go buy things!

Also, also - I got featured. 

It is so gorgeously sunny and bright outside right now.  I have all the windows in the office wide open to let the air in.  I can hear the dry leaves being blown across the sidewalk by the wind, and a little while ago, even heard an ice cream truck out making its rounds.  It doesn't feel like late October at all, much more like September, or maybe even the end of August.  It's perfect weather for a football game, so we're all crossing our fingers and praying that the predicted rain will hold off until after the game tonight is done.  It's Boy-O's last regular season game, Aunty C has come up from New York just for this, so all of us will be there.  It would be very nice if we didn't have to get soaked.  We'll see.

I keep forgetting that Halloween is coming.  It's never been a huge event for me.  My family didn't celebrate Halloween, and I didn't go trick or treating myself until I was over twenty.  I was very excited for a couple of years about the Halloween Swing Dance, and put a lot of thought into various costumes.  But then I finally made it to the dance, dressed as Princess Pupule, and it was excellent.  Now I feel kinda... been there, done that.  Sure, dressing up is fun, but I don't really have any ideas, and this doesn't bother me.  I've committed to going to the Halloween Swing Dance again this year (I'm giving one of my swing kids a ride), but I just don't feel like dressing up.  I dunno.  Do you think it's ok to go to a Halloween Party without wearing a costume?  I mean, I know I could do the whole nametag with "Hello, My Name is God" written on it thing, but even that feels like too much effort.

I think a little part of my blah-ness is that last night I found out that the psalm we'll be singing in Mass on Sunday is the same one Indy and I chose for our brother's funeral, the one with the refrain, "Lord, this is the people that longs to see your face," and the verse that talks about the "God of Jacob."  This is, of course, on top of the fact that it will be the Feast of All Saints, one of the Feasts that has deep meaning for me.  I usually tear up during the Litany of the Saints anyway.  It's been a while since I was a mess at Mass (for months after Jacob's death I used to hide in the side chapel during Sunday Mass and use many handkerchiefs).  I utterly loath weeping in public, no matter how discrete I am about it (and I am very, very good at crying unobtrusively), so I was thrilled when I could finally get through Mass again with no more than a slight moistness about the eyes. 

Music in particular gets me. A month or so ago I was ambushed at Mass when I turned to the Offertory Song, and discovered that it was set to the same tune as For The Beauty Of The Earth, which we not only sang at the funeral, but also as we were leaving the hospital for the very last time, having said good-bye to Jacob's body at the door of the elevator before it went down to the operating room for the surgery to retrieve his organs for donation.  A rag tag bunch of us, leaving out of the ER entrance in the dark early morning hours long before dawn, walking under the huge arched entryway where ambulances pull up, singing that song acapella and (because we are us) in four or maybe five part improvised harmony, holding hands, and leaning on one another as we went.  A rough looking man in a motorcycle jacket was sitting on the curb against one of the pillars smoking a cigarette as we went past.  When the song was done he applauded sincerely.  And we said thank you, and went home.

I think I've just discovered why I've been so tired the past few days.  They warned us that Anniversaries and holidays were going to be difficult.  Trust me to have non-standard holidays.  Heh.

Ok, enough with the depressing stuff.  It's time to go home and get ready for Boy-O's game.  I have a phone call to make before I go, and then I'll be off.  I'll bring my knitting, sit with my sisters, and have a good time.  Tomorrow night I will pass out candy to adorable children, and then go off dancing.  And it will be good.