Dear Binda,

I never thought you were good at baking. We talked about this before, so you’re not offended, I hope. But you are a good Molder. Your latest creations awed me. I’m lying flat on my bed, looking up at the whirring ceiling fan, still in awe.

Your children are so well-behaved. I’ll give you credit. I know Josh left you to such things. You’re doing so well. Especially with Katrina. She keeps saying please and thank you. She’s teaching me to say those things. Which means you are teaching me.

Thank you. And yes, please, let me have another one of your flat, hard, spread out, lackluster chocolate chip cookies, please.

P.S. Did I say molder? I meant Mother.