Me, to my son:  "Your granddad will be here in ten minutes - do you have your tackle box? Are your fishing poles by the door? It's cold, where's your beanie? Is this jacket water-resistant? What do you want for breakfast, you can't just have chocolate milk, you'll get hungry while you're fishing." Me, hands on hips, tapping foot, waiting for an answer on scrambled eggs vs. Frosted Flakes.

My son, hands on his head as if in great pain, wide-eyed: "Mom! Why are you...[voice going from confused to emotional]...why are you telling me all of these things?"

Husband, from the other room: "It's called nagging.  Get used to it."

That's right, kid.  It's called nagging. And I am sorry to say, but in no way give any kind of sexist endorsement, the origin of nagging is indeed a woman.  A tween girl who wants to go see Hannah Montana, a young lady who needs a cell phone, a girlfriend who wants to know if her guy has ever - even for a sec, maybe, potentially - considered her "the one", a wife for...too many reasons to list...and of course, a mother.  By the time a female is a Mother, she is the Queen of Nagging, untouchable with this method. It may go by many different names - whining, asserting, prying, the silent, scary stare even, or Guilt. But it's all the same.

In my humble opinion, we're good at it. In fact, my voice has different tones, approaches and timing when it comes to nagging, and for specific people. Really, I'm just trying to make sure things get done (rationalization). My son was just the latest victim, and he has learned coping mechanisms for nagging from his father.  

Me, no breath in between sentences: "Don't you have a report due tomorrow? Have you started it? Are you done with your after school snack because if you are you can start your report now and not have to do it when you get home from practice. 'kay? Do it now. Come on, dude. Start your report, please.  Turn off the tv. Turn off the tv.  TURN OFF THE TV!!!"

My son: "I'm going in my room to get ready for practice and I'll start my report in there because it's quieter."

Me, diffused like a bitchy bomb about to explode: "Oh. Okay."

That's true, his younger sisters do get loud. I am not sure at this time if he will indeed start his report, but he has agreed to somewhat comply with my request/nagging.

Or did that eight-year-old kid just out-maneuver me?

Because the origin of creative evasive techniques are indeed with the male. A male who wants to just play ball, and only play ball ("Mom, if I can't play baseball, I am just going to pass out.") A male who can't write a paper because sun is shining and recreation is calling, a male who suddenly has amnesia when wedding planning gets thick, a male who will spend money for a great return on something, but finds something else to do once we start talking about a new washing machine and dryer.

I've seen this pattern repeated so many times there just must be an element of truth to it. It's just one of the many dynamics that keep interdependence rolling.

It's a (yet another) game.

And the quirky maneuvers tip off our origins and inevitably give us away.