Last summer, Daniel had a bit of a personal crisis. Though I got the bare bones of it, he didn't want to talk about it with His Mother. Could he please go see Dr. D, the psychologist his older sister had seen for a few months after the separation? (Who his sister still chats with once in a while.)

The sessions cost $155 an hour. This is not small change for me. However, my children's well-being... And maybe the boy will learn some useful emotional and life skills.

After a couple of months, I asked how it was going. The crisis was over. $155 every week...

Well, he said, I like talking to her. It's nice.

("It's nice?" Um, no. NOT worth $155/week.) Okay, son. Can you give me some idea what you're talking about?

Well, mostly about communication.

COMMUNICATION!!!!! My son was discussing COMMUNICATION! My son, my cheerful, easy-going, largely cooperative son, who can and will talk your ear off about a quirky cartoon or a computer game, becomes completely mute when conversation threatens to become personal. My boy is getting an hour a week's tutorial in COMMUNICATING??

Worth every penny. Every single penny. Worth it even more when, by dint of a doctor's prescription for psychotherapy, our insurance started paying the lion's share.

However, I'm still forking out a chunk of money every month. Six months now. Time to check in with the boy.

Me: How are your sessions with Dr. D going?
Daniel: Fiiine. (Tones of mild suspicion.)
Me: Are you enjoying them?
Daniel: Yes. (Suspicion rising.)
Me: Are you getting anything out of them?
Daniel: Yeees. (Hint of defensive, self-protective edge to the voice.)

Longish pause. Will he divulge?
Pause continues. Apparently not.

Me: So, what do you think you’re getting out of them?
Pause.
Daniel: Well, that’s hard to say, really.

Ah, yes. Money well spent, wouldn't you say?