The cow does MUHHH - and what do you do? Or: Of milk mix products with spots and mothers in the Bredouille

The kid and I walk around the corner of the supermarket together for some more dinner items shopping. What a cozy and harmonious mom-and-son shopping without stress and time pressure! I carry the basket, the child is jumping around, there has not been anything falling down/tipped over/shattered/collapsed - and I think for a moment why it can not always be this way.

Us Turn around a shelf corner and come to the fridges with the dairy products. While I luxuriously spend a lot of time on the cheese selection and occasionally toying with a Camembert, it suddenly squeaks loudly next to me and my 6-year-old offspring sets in with lightning speed. I watch him afterwards. There he stands, presses his face to a refrigerator and says in this certain Baby-lyre, which brings me always very reliable in 5 seconds on the palm: "Maaamaaaaaaa, Paulaaaaaaaa aa?" WHAT? AS? MOMENT? How did he know Paula, this pudding? Of course, our son does not frequent TV channels with a children's program and advertising. With us only KIKA is guaranteed - free of advertising and (hopefully) pedagogically valuable. Hm. No matter. Later. I quickly slip from the role woman with a lot of shopping time in the usual screenplay mother in parenting situation and say in a friendly-warm but determined tone: "No honey, something we do not buy. "He does not rest. Of course not - that would be too easy. As a rule, it takes three to four passes of "may-I-don't-buy-us-not" (the last one in a certain sharp tone on my part) to finally clarify the situation.