QUIT NAGGING.

Jamie hated being nagged, and I hated being a nag, yet I found myself doing it all too often.
Studies show that the quality of a couple’s friendship determines, in large part, whether they feel
satisfied with their marriage’s romance and passion, and nothing kills the feeling of friendship (and
passion) more than nagging. Anyway, nagging doesn’t work. Our Valentine’s cards gave me a
chance to put this resolution to a test. As happens to many people, about five minutes after Eliza
was born, I was possessed with an irresistible urge to send out yearly holiday cards. In a decision
born more out of desperation rather than originality, I’d decided to make a tradition of sending
cards in February for Valentine’s Day, instead of in December, when life is crazy. When it was time
to send out the cards this year, as Jamie and I sat down to watch Close Encounters of the Third
Kind, I got out the enormous stacks of envelopes and asked brightly, “Would you like to stuff or
seal?”

He gave me a sad look and said, “Please don’t make me.” I struggled to decide how to answer.
Should I insist that he help? Should I tell him that it wasn’t fair that I had to do all the work? That
I’d done the hard part of ordering the cards and arranging for the photo (an adorable picture of
Eleanor and Eliza in ballet clothes), and he was just helping with the easy part? On the other hand,
I’d decided to do these cards to suit myself. Was it fair to ask him to help? Well, fairness didn’t
really matter. I’d rather finish the envelopes myself than feel like a nag. “It’s okay,” I told him with
a sigh. “Don’t worry about it.” I did feel a few twinges of resentment when I glanced at Jamie
lounging back on the sofa, but I realized that I enjoyed not feeling like a nag more than I enjoyed
watching TV without licking envelopes at the same time. After the movie, Jamie looked over at me,
where I sat surrounded by stuffed, sealed, and stamped red envelopes. He put his hand on mine.
“Will you be my Valentine?” I was glad that I’d decided not to push it. To make it easier to quit
nagging, I made myself a checklist of antinagging techniques. First, because it’s annoying to hear a
hectoring voice, I found ways for us to suggest tasks without talking; when I put an envelope on
the floor by the front door, Jamie knew he was supposed to mail it on his way to work. I limited
myself to a one-word reminder. Instead of barking out, “Now remember, you promised to figure
out what’s wrong with the video camera before we go to the park!” I just said, “Camera!” as Jamie
got up from lunch. I reminded myself that tasks didn’t need to be done according to my schedule. I
had to fight the urge to nag Jamie to retrieve the play slide from our basement storage, because
once I decided Eleanor would enjoy it, I wanted it brought up immediately. But it wasn’t really
urgent. I did give myself credit for not indulging in the popular “It’s for your own good” variety of
nagging. I never bugged Jamie about taking an umbrella, eating breakfast, or going to the dentist.
Although some people think that that kind of nagging shows love, I think that an adult should be
able to decide whether or not to wear a sweater without interference from others. The most
obvious (and least appealing) antinagging technique, of course, was to do a task myself. Why did I
get to decree that it was Jamie’s responsibility to make sure we had plenty of cash on hand? Once
I took over the job, we always had cash, and I was much happier. And when Jamie

did a task, I didn’t allow myself to carp from the sidelines. I thought he paid too much when he
bought the replacement for the dud video camera, but it was his decision to make in his own way.
I also tried to be more observant and appreciative of all the tasks that Jamie did. I was certainly
guilty of “unconscious overclaiming,” the phenomenon in which we unconsciously overestimate
our contributions or skills relative to other people. (It’s related to the Garrison Keillor–named
“Lake Wobegon fallacy,” which describes the fact that we all fancy ourselves to be above average.)
In one study, when students in a work group each estimated their contribution to the team, the
total was 139 percent. This makes sense, because we’re far more aware of what we do than what
other people do: I complain about the time I spend paying bills, but I overlook the time Jamie
spends dealing with our car. I have a friend who has a radical solution. She and her husband don’t
assign. Even though they have four children, they have a tacit agreement never to say things such
as “You need to take the kids to the birthday party” or “Fix the toilet, it’s running again.” Their
system works because they both pitch in, but even so, I can’t imagine living that way. It’s an
impossible ideal, yet inspiring.