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

cowhide 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.

Also, the tug on my jacket has stopped. That's suspicious. I open my eyes and peek in all directions. I see that we are in the process of attracting the attention of the bystanders. Why are all people always so madly interested in mother/father-child situations? I briefly scan the audience. Age (very young or 50+), clothing (spotless), handbag size (tiny-small or huge and expensive) and heel height (over 5 cm) signal reliable: all childless. Damn it. While parents can usually hope for a compassionate or encouraging smile from parents, the childless always expect a particularly tough crackdown. So there they are and look at us.

In that second, my son starts rapping the entire Paula-The-Pudding-with-the-Spot-TV spot in distributed roles. And it does not look as if he wants to stop it so quickly. He knows the entire text, word for word. He proudly and especially loudly performs the Abbinder "Paula - by dr. Oetker ". Faithfully. I start to sweat. The expressions of our audience have darkened significantly. They do not think that's funny, but highly questionable. After all, we live in a neighborhood close to education. They praise me and judge every inch of me. Am I one who parks her unkempt brat in front of the TV all the time?Probably the child has only rotten teeth in the mouth. They are waiting for a reaction from me ... the sounds are falling silent ... I have all eyes. An eternity passes.

"Do you know the list of ingredients?" Ask my son into the silence. And then happily rappel: "Various sugars, modified starch, thickening agents, dyes and flavorings, yeah!" My son looks open-mouthed and the good-looking fellow-twenties even applauds on the cheese rack. The faces are suddenly friendly and the crowd disperses. I'd say the round is going to me.

"Honey, we'll go ahead and leave this department of horror," I say nonchalantly to my son. He also likes to push around the corner. And then he says - and I hear the grin in his voice - "Mom, there's the next department of horror ...". I look up and see the chip shelves.