Make the Punishment Fit the Crime! Rhapsody’s Fail-Safe Formulas for Summer Fun with Kids

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Welcome back to the salon, Kittens!

Before we begin, a bit of light housekeeping: there will be no more apologizing at Rhapsody in Cool for our long absences. Blog Neglect is as normal as driving down the freeway at speed with the parking brake still on, and we should all stop acting like it isn’t.

Just think of me as your long-lost Favorite Friend in the World who goes missing for months, then shows up at your door wearing a fabulous kaftan to accept a dinner invitation you never made.

I missed you all, too. Now, on to today’s topic of SUMMER FUN with CHILDREN.

As you know, all posts at Rhapsody in Cool are deeply researched, so in preparation for today’s gathering I made a close study of exactly one website and a dated Powerpoint presentation, then fortified myself with a swim in the deep and refreshing waters of my own wisdom. What follows are all the most interesting bits of jetsam I dragged to the surface.

Also, I made us a pitcher of peach sangria. You are welcome.

I see a couple of you raising your hands to say that for full-time working parents or anyone outside the first world, a series of braying complaints about summer vacation is distasteful. We don’t want you to be upset, so please find the exit nearest you and leave the salon in an orderly fashion.

To those of you still here, allow me to freshen your sangria.

Perhaps you are parenting at home full-time or, like Rhapsody, are engaged in that piece of farcical theater called “Freelancing at Home While Your Children Are Also At Home.” The only hope for us, kittens, will be equally robust stocks of patience and beaujolais nouveau. To get through to the end of August, must stick together. Rhapsody in Cool is a community, after all— a village of people just like you and me, reclining in our chaise lounges and pondering what it all means.

It may not mean anything, my dears. This is the age of Trump and nothing is what it seems. Why, just this morning I had brunch with a Russian lawyer who told me all about it, in addition to offering me first-dibs on compromising photos of my PTO co-president.

Yet here we are, and the children must be entertained, or at least kept from committing acts of arson. So let’s top up our sangria and get started, shall we?

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Rhapsody’s Second-Chance New Year Spectacular

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Happy 2016, kittens! Welcome to Rhapsody’s First Annual, Never-To-Be-Repeated, Second-Chance New Year Spectacular, in which we bid farewell not only to the preceding year, but to the already busted resolutions of three weeks ago.

It’s all right friends: Rhapsody is here to freshen your drink, and your self-esteem with a totally new approach. At today’s gathering, we’ll grant ourselves a second chance to enjoy 2016, not just sand it away grimly, day by earnest day, with “goals” and “challenges.”

True, there are some who are still pumping away on their elliptical trainers, scaling the imaginary hills of self-improvement, but I don’t like those people and neither do you, so let’s leave them to their step-counting and do something that’s actually fun, shall we?

You’re welcome.

Participation is simple. Just choose one healthy, worthwhile, life-affirming activity—any thigh-firming, mind-sharpening notion you like—and do it with enthusiasm, just once.

Then, do not do it again until at least January of 2017.

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The Worrier’s Life: A Post From My Cabin in the Molehill Mountains

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“If you’re not worrying, you’re not family.” — Rhapsody’s sister, Andromeda

So good to see you, friends! For today’s post, I’ve thoughtfully arranged the chairs in a semi-circle so you can all see me on the screen up here, and still reach the cocktail olives with ease. The reason I’m addressing you by video today is that I’ve taken myself off for a little rest at the cabin—my retreat when the daily effort of being “somewhat difficult” overwhelms me.

Mr. Roboto and the children aren’t here; this is my time for picking wildflowers, journaling and sipping homemade blueberry wine that doubles as paint thinner.

Arm’s length seemed the optimal distance for today’s topic. With you in the salon, and me in an undisclosed location with a camcorder, I can more comfortably explain what it’s like to be a mildly depressive worrier with just the tiiiiiiiniest bit of an anxiety disorder. To save money and time, I self-diagnosed with the help of pharmaceutical commercials. My doctor was glad I confided to her that I suffer from Rich-Woman-Gardening-But-Not-Enjoying-It Disease.

You see, I’m afraid you won’t understand what I’m talking about today, and will think Rhapsody is a strange and embarrassing misfit—and that is precisely why I must come forward. As a reward for listening, or at least keeping one eye open, I’ve made you each a Rhapsody in Cool first-aid kit stocked with band-aids, emergency flares and a fifth of bourbon.

So grab your life vests, friends, and follow me for an adventure of the imagination! That’s Shit Creek up ahead and we’re putting our canoes in right above the rapids. No paddles on board, please: we’ll just scoop the water frantically with our hands. Continue reading