Daddy Bish was away on a business trip and Munchie and I had been had been getting along quite nicely… even better than usual, I’d say. We were going on after school adventures, he was willing putting on his pants in the morning (still a very real struggle most days), and life was good. It was a lovely afternoon during the week of Mother’s Day, I’d had a great day, and I can only imagine I had a big smile on my face as I walked into Munchie’s preschool to pick up my precious little angel.

It’s important you know my son attends a Christian preschool and that each day we get a chance to chat with the teacher about how his day was. (Shout out to his amazing teachers!) It’s never a long conversation, maybe a couple lines about how well he played with friends, something new he achieved, or a positive highlight from his day. On this particular day, his teacher met me at the door and informed me “Dammit” had weaseled back into his vocabulary. (Which was better than when he was two and dropped the F-bomb… but still not acceptable.) The teacher informed me that it happened a couple times and he was told that I would find out. “Oh dear, I will have a chat with him about that.” (And we did… in the car.)

I was slightly embarrassed that such a word had crept back into his vocabulary… but it happens. I went to step inside the classroom and snag my kiddo, but stopped in my tracks as the teacher continued. “Also,” (Dammit, there’s more.) “we were talking about moms today, since Mother’s Day is coming up. During circle time, we were asking each child what their mother’s name was. Alex said (looks at the other teacher)… oh goodness, I can’t remember. It started with an S.” I was really hoping he said spiffy or stupendous or SOMETHING GOOD. But, we all know you don’t get stopped at the classroom door by the teacher to discuss lovely things. Not being able to remember, I quickly grabbed Munchie and we headed toward his cubby in the hallway.

Just then, his teacher reemerged from the classroom. “Oh yeah, we remembered what it was. He said your name was Satan.”

What. The. Bleep.

Satan?!?! Where had he even heard that? I say Devil, not Satan… and I swear on my Venti Vanilla Coconut Milk Latte… I don’t call people either of those names.

Mortified, we made a swift exit and I called our church’s Children’s Director to see if the Sunday School lesson had talked about Satan. (Still baffled as to where he heard Satan.) She informed me they had most certainly NOT discussed anything like that in Sunday School or Children’s Church… and then she started laughing. (We’re friends… she’s allowed to laugh at that.) Then, we laughed together.

My therapist later asked me how I handled the situation. Did we talk about it? (No.) Does he know my real name? (Yes.) What did you do about it?

Answer: We went to SaMP Compassion Kids Club… and we keep going back. (Because it’s amazing… and he needs to learn to be a good human.)

Result: Munchie no long thinks I’m Satan. (Or at least he doesn’t verbalize it.)


I still don’t know if my child referring to me as Satan means I’m totally failing as a parent… or completely rocking this whole thing. What I do know is that I’m happy Daddy Bish is finally home so we can co-parent… because Satan can’t do this alone. 😉

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