There are many advice columns in the world, but very few address the real crises of modern domestic life:

• The mother-in-law who travels with drawer dividers
• The friend who “checks in” by delivering emotional weather reports about herself
• The neighbor who feels spiritually responsible for your mulch choices

And so, welcome! You are now standing in the foyer of The Institute for Civilized Living. Jane will answer your letters with clarity, composure, and her usual unconventional methods for sorting out human behavior. Frank (a small amphibian with strong opinions and uncertain boundaries) will offer practical solutions while reclining on a sponge in the kitchen.

Join us as we launch an advice column that will aid us in handling all our dilemmas! 

Warmly,

Frank & Jane 

Let’s get started with our first question!

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Dear Frank & Jane,

My mother-in-law is what I would call a high-energy homemaker. She arrives in coordinated athleisure, zip-up tennies, with 7 gold bracelets on her wrist, hair in a precise bob, and nails painted in Cashmere Neutral for Women Who Ski.

She surveys my home the way a regional manager inspects a mid-tier franchise underperforming in Q3. Then quietly begins her work at revamping things in the kitchen as she chatters on about what Cynthia said at Book Club.

Last weekend, she reorganized my underwear drawer into labeled categories: Lacey (Evening Festive), Daily, Backup, and Aspirational. The week before, she reshaped my towels into spa-swans that look like they’ve accepted their fate.

How do I keep the peace without surrendering my household to her satellite office?

Sincerely, 
Trying to Protect my Drawers

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My dear Trying to Protect my Drawers, 

Your instinct is correct: she is establishing a branch location. She has already selected her corner office and begun onboarding herself.

When she picks up anything and asks, “Where should this go?” you will answer, pleasantly: “Oh, I have a system. I organize by seasonal intuition.” Then continue stirring your tea. Also: briefly look at a houseplant, as though it, too, understands.

That’s enough. No explanation. No follow-up. Let her sit with the mystery.

Warmly,
Jane

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Meanwhile, Frank is sitting on a damp sponge in the sink, legs crossed like a small amphibian philosopher. He is staring into the middle distance, absorbing the situation on a molecular level.

He speaks:

LISTEN. Your mother-in-law has organizational instincts the way salmon have upstream impulse. You must redirect the current. Before she arrives, create a Decoy Project of Magnitude:

1. Remove every book from your bookshelf.
2. Scatter three tape measures and a notebook labeled: “Phase Two: Conceptual Draft.”
3.  Place one (1) single potato on the highest shelf. Not in a bowl. Not with other potatoes.
Just a lone, contemplative potato.

When she walks in, sigh deeply, looking bereft, and say: “I just don’t even know where to begin.”  Then leave the room. She will enter a trance state of Purpose. She will not look up for 6–9 hours.

Meanwhile, you will be in the backyard, eating a cookie, speaking on the phone to your favorite friend, and living exactly as the Lord intended.

Your friend, with dignity and unwavering loyalty,

Frank

Who now retreats to the salad spinner (set to no spin), folding himself into a position of dignified recovery, to stare at nothing in particular until the world makes sense again. This is what we in the amphibian arts refer to as “restorative spinner yoga”.