Nagging is the New Black

Do you nag the crap out of your kids?

AI generated and I love how creepy it looks. Where is the boy’s hand?

I’ve got a confession to make. I’m a nagging bish to my kids. Probably my wife too, but let’s not get into that right now.

Now you might be thinking that what’s about to follow is an ode to nagging the crap out of your kids as a parenting style you should lean into. Like “Nagging is the New Black.”

That’s not happening here.

I don’t think nagging my kids will bring me closer to them. I don’t think it’s good for the soul. I don’t want to nag my kids. But I’ve always believed in structured parenting and teaching them to be accountable because actions (or inactions) have consequences. 

I’m not saying I’m wrong on that, but I am acknowledging that most of my philosophy comes from the fact that I was raised in two different homes. There was my first house where my parents were together, we lived pretty well because they were charging anything that wasn’t nailed down. My parents were generally present and they had high expectations of me and my sister. My dad loved to walk around the house talking about, “If you’re not 15 minutes early, you’re late.”

But then my parents split up. My dad wandered off to do his own life, leaving me, his little buddy, behind. My mom headed down a path of booze and men. There was a chaos to my childhood that I always said I’d never give to my kids.

When my wife, Mary and I had our first baby, Maxine, I became obsessed with not breaking her. I mean that in a literal way, like I didn’t want to drop her or look the other way as she scooted into traffic. I became very worried about breaking her emotionally as well. I had to be the best parent alive ensuring she has a better childhood than mine. You know that whole stand on the shoulders of those who came before you kind of thing.

That’s when the nagging began. 

I became rigid in my enforcement of the Hop-Tell household rules and regulations. I transformed into a drill sergeant who yelled things like, “We have four minutes and thirty seconds to leave this household for the zoo. Have teeth been brushed? Has underwear been changed? Chop. Chop. You now have three minutes and 45 seconds.” As I yelled, I could be found standing by the door, muttering about how this always happens. 

My relentless nagging became a predictable pattern in our house. I was Stern Mom compared to their other parent, Nice Mommy. Mornings were filled with fights as we tried to leave the house, punishments for missed deadlines, and little leniency. 

My house sounds fun, right?

I stayed the course, no matter what because I believed– or maybe I was afraid that if I relinquished control, my kids would not be good people. I had to make sure their lives were structured and they were smart and thoughtful and considerate and didn’t end up as alcoholics or teen parents or just plain ol’ assholes. 

This was a mission, and I would crush anyone who got in the way, including my kids. 

I could sense, somewhere deep inside, that this may not be the best course of action for anyone in my house, myself included. I tried to make changes. I went  through periods where I would make (loud) declarative statements like, “I’m not nagging you kids anymore. I can’t want this more than you do. You may need to fail to understand. Blah blah blah.”  But within five days, five minutes, sometimes five seconds of said declaration, I’d end up right back where I was - The Nag-Master. Drill sergeant hat on, holding a clipboard, nagging the crap out of anyone who could hear me. Even the cat.

Then recently, I started doing the Artist’s Way workbook. It’s a 12 week course that boasts “A spiritual path to higher creativity.” 

Anyone who knows me or who has talked to me in the last six weeks knows I'm doing “the Artist’s Way” because I can’t stop talking about how I’m doing “the Artist’s Way”. Almost anything, anyone says I respond with something like, “It’s so funny you mention that, I was just reading about that in chapter five of ‘the Artist’s Way.’ Did I mention I'm doing ‘the Artist’s Way?” 

I know. I’m a lot.

But an interesting thing has started to happen. Each morning I find a quiet corner of our apartment, crack open my computer and “The Artists Way” to do my morning work, and I’m not able to be as present in the morning routine because I’m too busy journaling about all my feelings. Lord help me.

And I’ve noticed a shift.

First let me say that I’m a lucky parent at the moment. My kids are in that sweet spot where they’re old enough to wake themselves up, get ready for school, pack their lunch, and then, glory of all glories, take themselves to school. But they’re not so old that I’m afraid they’re drinking out of our liquor cabinet or meeting up at abandoned warehouses for drug-fueled ragers. Like I said, the sweet spot.

So in the morning, as they’re being all self-sufficient and I’m prioritizing my “the Artist’s Way” morning pages (did I mention I am doing “the Artist’s Way?”) I only have time to periodically check in on them between tasks. 

The outcome of this shift has been amazing, and I mean amazing in the literal definition of the word, not the way we all bandy it about when we get a good parking spot or when there’s a sale at Target. 

What’s happening in my house is we’re having fewer fights. I’m spending more time plopping onto my daughter’s bed in the morning to say hello while agreeing that yes, her make up does look fabulous and I can’t even tell she drew those freckles on herself. I mean what do I know about freckle pencils? 

The biggest change is that they’re doing all the things they need to do and getting out of the house the exact same time they did before. Sure that time is five minutes late (yes I needed to note that,) but it’s still more than enough time for them to get to school on time. 

I don't know if it’s my work on “the Artist Way” (seriously, get the book already) which is leading to a calmness that I haven't had in years or if it’s the simple fact that I got off their back and they have some freedom and autonomy and don’t feel the need to act out against my pressure. During the high nagging days, when my son was late, he walked the slowest walk known to man from his bedroom to the door just to show me who was boss. 

Now, our mornings are nicer. My day starts off gentler. I feel an improvement in my relationship with my kids. Whether they feel it or not, I have no idea. I’m definitely not going to ask either because it’s nicer to assume. 

Why am I telling you all this?  I guess I’m giving a shoutout to all you controlling parents out there. I can’t be the only one, right? If me calling myself Nags McNaggerbottom resonates with you, I'm suggesting you try stepping off the gas. It won’t be easy, believe me, but it might free you up to be with your kids in a different way. 

Might.

One more thing, have you thought about doing “the Artist’s Way?” It’s really a game changer. In case you hadn’t heard.