Every night I tell Girl a bedtime story about Emily Poochydoochydauchydoo, the Girl Who Wouldn’t Listen. Usually I try to take the opportunity to impart a lesson to Girl about the events of the day. I have to be crafty about it or she’ll see right through me and take the story in her own direction.

Like the story of how Emily Poochydoochydauchydoo goes to the dentist and finds out she has cavities and needs to stop eating so much candy. “Mom, this is just boring,” Girl says. “It needs some magic.” So she highjacks the story and has Emily Poochydoochydauchydoo flying off to Iminagation World on her bed to meet with the Evil Bunny. I had forgotten Emily Poochydoochydauchydoo could do that.

Lately I have taken to exaggeration to get my point across. Girl has been eating too much watermelon before bedtime, with wet results, so a few nights ago I told a story about Emily Poochydoochydauchydoo eating a whole watermelon by herself and having to use the bathroom every 5 minutes — for 3 solid weeks. Girl got the message and told me she would never eat as much watermelon as that.

Last night, I told the story of how Emily Poochydoochydauchydoo came home from kindergarten and got so angry at her dad that she turned bright red and had to go outside and climb a tree to cool off (I borrowed heavily from the storybook “When Sophie Gets Angry,” which we had just read.) I don’t know if that one sunk in or not.

Girl has been on green at school for three days now (green means good conduct, for those of you without elementary schoolers at home). This model behavior has its repercussions, however. When she gets home, she’s like a steam kettle blowing heavy and hot, and Bob is the one getting burned. By the time I get home, she’s upstairs wailing in time-out, and Bob’s in the kitchen with his hair all frazzled.

So now I’m waiting to see how the story of The Man with the Short Fuse Versus the Chip Off the Old Block plays out. I’m hoping for a happy ending.