That’s my new nickname from my eldest son, Jared. He hates to listen to me nag him, but lately, that’s all I seem to be doing. Is it my fault, however, that he refuses to help out with the things he already knows I expect of him? Gimme a break. I hate to nag and I even hate to listen to myself harp on him over and over again, but the more I ask, the less he responds until finally I have to explode before I get the results I need.
I’ve tried typing up a list of expectations, and rewards, and punishments, but nothing seems to phase him. Why am I getting nowhere?
Pick up your clothes. Pick up your shoes. Take your medicine. Did you do your homework? Take out the trash. Clean out your hamster’s cage. Take a shower. Turn off the TV. It’s the same stuff day in and day out, so why doesn’t he just do what is asked instead of waiting until I explode?
I walked into his room the other night and couldn’t stand to see his clothes everywhere, when his hamper is just one step to the left inside his door. I started to tell him to pick them all up when I heard him say for the first time, “Ahhh! Nagula! It’s Nagula!”
That’s a good one, Jared. Though it made me chuckle inside, I thought to myself, “Maybe I ought to nag his butt with my belt like my dad did when I was young…I’m sure then I’d get my results.”
Until then, Nagula lives.