Every night my wife and I huddle.
Like Peyton Manning calling an audible, we size up our calendars for the next day and decide how to deploy.
“Where are you tomorrow?” I ask.
“Brainerd,” she says, “but don’t forget I have a doctor’s appointment after work.”
“OK, and I have an interview for a column in Dalton at noon,” I say, “but if the traffic isn’t too bad, I should be able to swing by and pick the boys up from school at 3 o’clock and then get back to work.”