10 reasons why I may never get into a car with my child again

I'm not proud of the parenting I do in my car.

It involves a lot of threats. These threats are completely futile as "I'm turning this car around" is pretty much exactly what he wants me to do. The arm-flailing is another essential bit of car-parenting I engage in. I flail wildly and ineffectually in his direction attempting to retrieve the toy that has fallen out of reach – his shouting pitch is usually in direct proportion to the distance his toy is from his chubby outstretched hand. In the car, I am forced to concede to his every whim and demand. It's demoralising.   10 reasons I may never get into a car with my child again: 1. The screaming. Please. Make. It. Stop. 2. The impossibility of eating ANYTHING without the child demanding it. Not some but 'it', the actual bite you are eating. 3. The flinging to the floor of the bite you handed over in response to his unrelenting demands. "I was eating that," you whine. Devastating. 4. Did I mention the screaming? It kinda makes me feel like this... 5. The neck strain experienced after a 45 minute puppet show performed using your seat back as the stage. 6. The crying (yours) after two counties of unrelenting screaming (see reasons 1 and 4 and please tell me I'm not alone in this). 7. The crying (his) after being put back in his seat after ten car-free minutes at Athlone services. 8. The frustration when you produce the Secret Weapon, the piece of parenting arsenal you're banking on to distract him and diffuse his rage at this prolonged confinement. In this case, the Secret Weapon is a lovingly handcrafted (by ME no less) 'travel' blackboard with chalk attached for doodling (scrawling) on. He holds it for about six seconds before ... 9. The PAIN, oh the pain, as the lovingly handcrafted blackboard hits you in the head after he discards it in disgust. 10. The defeat as you hand over a bag of crisps. Peace comes at a price and that price is high, as in high in salt and fat.