Nagging is a wonderful gift to women. In fact, nagging is an art form. Why? Well, why the hell not? Nagging is the result of not finding resolution to a serious problem and it goes like this:
mom: willie, did you make up your bed?
willie: I can’t remember
mom: you just came out of your bedroom so you know if you did or didn’t make up your bed
willie: mom, you’ve said that three time now
mom: No, actually it’s two but this is the third and nice time
Did you make up your bed (as I grab him by the back of his shirt into a room not fit for man nor beast)
mom: OMG! This is a pig pen. I can’t even see the bed. Now right now – start cleaning!
willie: mom, I’ll be late for school
mom: No matter, I’ll cover for you and also have a chat with Sister Claire – remember the one you locked in the broom closet?
willie: Aw mom – why do you always have to nag?
Yes, nagging is a wonderful gift to women… if done properly, which usually equates to a threat in some form or other. Women nag for one reason and that is because they don’t find resolution. It’s like my husband, “Lard Arse the I’ve always got my nose in a book” when I say dinner is ready and ten minutes later, he’s still got his nose in the book. So I go into action nag #1 ‘Honey, your dinner is on the table.’
nag #2 ‘Sweetheart, your dinner is getting cold.’
nag #3 ‘Honey, your dinner is in the frig – whenever you are ready.’
Then, I take his dinner, throw it in the trash and write him a sweet note on a jar of peanut butter in the front of the refrigerator that says. “ Next time, try coming to the table after the first nag!”
Now, if you are a man and reading this – you probably don’t like what I’m saying as it’s making your testosterone turn into Limburger cheese - but come on – you know I’m telling the truth. If you are a woman who has raised kids and has a husband – you definitely understand. Yep! nagging is a wonderful gift to women. We get it out of our system and never get ulcers. But the trick is not to get mad when you nag…no, think of some classical music like ‘Swan Lake’ and nag to that tune…it won’t have much of an affect on the other person but it will keep you happy and positive – and after all, if the little woman isn’t happy – is the rest of the house going to be? See where I’m going with this?
Attila Honey
When she said those words, “you’ll have to drive yourself, ” I came close to having a cardiac arrest. And yes, I did think, “OMG! I should’ve remained a virgin!” However, I quickly overcame this moment of panic, grabbed my packed bag by the door and shoved both kids into the car. I’m sure I had no more than $2 worth of gas – just enough to get me to the hospital. The labor pains were now three minutes apart and it was getting quite dark as we drove on that desolate country road passing corn field after corn field. I thought, “Well, if the baby Jesus was born in a barn and he turned out OK, then this kid might just be born in a corn field and turn out just fine!” It might be worth noting that Willie kept up his mantra for thirty minutes, ‘I WANT M & M’s!” 
While all of this was going on in my head Willie kept rocking back and forth in the back seat repeating non stop, “I WANT M & M’s, I WANT M & M’s.” The pains were really coming fast but I put petal to the metal and – miracle of all miracles, we made it just in the nick of time. I drove that Chevy right up and almost into the entrance glass doors of JFK Hospital. I grabbed the kids by their shirts – the one still screaming, “I WANT M & M’s!”, threw my car keys at the front desk and said, ” I’m having a baby! You park the car if there’s enough gas left in it!” They briskly wheeled me into emergency where both nurses and doctors were in a state of shock that I had driven such a distance while I was fully dilated. Any woman who has had a baby understands what this means. When you are fully dilated, it means the baby’s head is in place and ready to come out. At that juncture that kid does not care where you are much less what you’re doing. It only knows…”Hey, I’m geting out of here!”
The nurse called Em and she reassured the nurse that she was but a couple of minutes away and to tell Willie she had M & M’s for him. The minute I was rolled onto the operating table, the water bag broke and the baby was born five minutes later. It was a frank breach delivery, which means that it’s head was up and fists up and his feet came out first…the opposite of a normal delivery. All of this might have had serious implications had I not firmly believed Em when she said, “Don’t worry darlin, God will take care of you.” I remembered all too vividly having my first child in Madrid with severe labor pains and nothing to ease that agony. This was a natural childbirth and he came out like a little warrior with his fists in the air and kicking. Em was siting right outside the operating room. The moment she heard that first cry – she walked in and her beautiful blue eyes were the first he saw in this mortal world. 
I had paid for my room in advance so I was shocked to find myself in a bed in a busy hallway. But that’s life – the rooms were packed to overflowing. However, I was so happy to see this little rascal – after all we had been through together – that I could care less. He was a healthy baby, I was out of a hellish life and Willie had his M & Ms. Within minutes, Em was standing beside my bed with a freshly baked stuffed apple and sandwiches made with her own special recipe. Above all, she was there. Looking back on it all, I realize that those were the moments when my path to God Realization began in earnest. Em was my dearest and best friend for over 30 years. In her sixties, she rented a chicken coop for $20 a month and from those humble origins, she created a successful corporation…herself the CEO. But to me – she was always teacher, friend and above all – mystic mother. 
Em passed away at the young age of 93. A day never passes that I do not think of her. I owe my life to that wonderful friend.
For God’s sake, stop itching yourself there! It is no easy matter being a young single mom raising three little boys who, by the way, are born with some strange built in habits. The one that used to send me into eternity was when we’d be in the store or out somewhere and suddenly – that little hand would go straight to that particular part of the body…are you with me here? Must I be graphic? OK…let’s call that area – “the private parts.” I’m not entirely sure why God didn’t attach a red blinking light to those “private parts” because they seem to take on a life of their own beginning at a young age…like birth!
There is nothing more embarrassing than seeing your kid scratch his” private parts” in public and think nothing of it. No matter how many times I’d say “For God’s sake, stop itching yourself there,” they just didn’t seem to get it. So I had to devise ways of outwitting that particular body part and actually threaten it – in order to make it behave. I have come to the conclusion that it all begins with changing their diapers. To be specific, I’m changing the diaper and I would get a full blast of “widdle” in my face. Yep! It just stood at attention right from the get go and that little stream of water hit me smack dab in the face! What could I do because a 2 month old baby is too young to be reprimanded. And even when my babies did that – I’d just wipe it off and smile. My point is this: That body part seems to take on a life of it’s own and it starts in infancy. If I had a nickel for every time I said, “For God’s sake, stop itching yourself there,” I’d be a millionaire today. Oh yes indeedy do, I would!
