I didn't think much of going to an end-of-quarter parent/teacher conference today. Today was a happy happy day - both boys had spectacular report cards, the beginning of spring break, a half day, and no uniforms. We went out to lunch and planned our spring break ritual of Ice Cream For Dinner discussing the subtle pros and cons of each ice cream shoppe. So at 2:30 I head to the school. Con's teacher is not my favorite, but she is okay. We just have different philosophies on raising kids. No big deal. So imagine my dumbfoundedness when she tries to gently tip-toe into telling me that she thinks Connor is depressed. She admitted that she is not an expert on such things, but thought we might want to investigate further. The saddest part is she made some good points. Now what the heck am I supposed to do with all this? I am still processing. Of course, I will do whatever I need to do to get to the truth of the matter and then whatever help he may or may not need. My brain is pretty sure that none of it has to do with me, his dad, or his home life, but you can't make my heart feel any better about it. Can kids be chemically depressed? I don't even know where to start. With a professional I suppose.
Make my cake batter ice cream a double please.
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Oh, honey. Who needs that sort of info at a PT-Conference? I have no doubts that you'll do the right thing. Easy or hard.
You should smother that ice cream in Starbucks Liquor.
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