Raising Megalomanics

I'm in charge of reading bedtime stories at night, which with 2 active boys isn't as easy and peaceful as it sounds. At story time it looks more like the Federation of Wrestling than the typical kids cuddled up in bed listening attentively to a story.

Out of desperation to get the attention of my wild animals, a few nights ago in the middle of a story "Aunt Isabel Tells a Good One," I changed the name of a main character to that of the most rambunctious boy. Prince BooBoy was then saved by the Princess.

Little did I know what I was starting. Now every book is about them. Sure, they've settled down and now listen to the story, but after having to read "Where the Wild Things Are" twice every night (once for "The night when E. wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind . . ." and once for "The night Booboy wore his wolf suit and . . ." - complete with them saying "I'll eat you up" and "Let the wild rumpus start") one starts to wonder.

Some stories aren't so bad. We have "Booboy and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." But when we get to "Farmer E Sheers His Sheep," and his older brother insists that the sheep are his sisters, it starts to loose something.