Ten in a row. The eight-year-old aspiring baller was working toward a goal. Ten lay-ups without missing on the right side, then once we got that in the books, ten more in a row on the left. Every time she got to eight, the ball lipped off the rim. 

I’m a classic pre-liver. Whenever something big is coming, I take it for a test drive before it actually arrives. I do the hills, the sharp turns, the narrow parking spaces that appear to be too skinny for a fit. Just me and the “big deal.” A time or two or twenty, we hit the road to go for a spin so she won’t feel so foreign in real time.