Murray. No, not Murray.


“Murray? No, not Murray.”

“Jeff? No, not Jeff.”

“The chef? Yes! The chef cooked my dinner.”

“Not Murray, not Greg, not Jeff, the chef.”

This is the conversation my son was having with himself on the way home from daycare last week. He didn’t need me until the very end when he’d solved the puzzle and could tell me that the chef had cooked his lunch for him that day.

We had been speaking about the chef as we arrived at daycare in the morning because we had seen him bustling around the kitchen preparing the food for the day and my son hadn’t known who he was or what he was up to.

The following week we were due to meet up with a friend of mine at the park. The friend we were meeting is called Jess. Completely unaware that this would cause him any issues. I told him who we were going to be meeting in the car on the way there.

“The chef?” he asked.

“No Jess.” I reiterated.

“Ahh, Jeff.” he announced satisfied.

“No. Sssssss, Jesssss, it’s a sss sound.” I helpfully added.

“Not Murray, not Jeff, not the chef, Jesss.” once again he singlehandedly managed to clear the whole thing up.

“Jessssssss. The chef. The chef cooked my dinner.”

Well, as long as we are focusing on the important things.

* Image from The Wiggles


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