Dear Susannah, I’m not sure when you became such a little organizer, but you’re slowly killing me with all of your “projects.” Oh, and next time you organize the garage, please don’t stack everything right in front of the freezer. Also, don’t booby-trap your work with weights. My foot doesn’t thank you. Dear Madeline, even though you seem to have no doubt about it, I’m not sure that God looks just like Colonel Sanders. Dear me, I just don’t know what to say to you for having more phone apps than both Jerm AND Billy. There’s something very wrong with that. Dear Mad, whatever possessed you to take off all of your clothes except my gigantic shoes and have a long singing session on the toilet? I’m never quite sure what I’m going to find when I go check on absentee kids who’ve locked themselves in the bathroom.