The Three Bears

In China I came up with an equation: 3(kids) + 4(espressos after dinner) = no trouble sleeping. It's a formula I'm sure would still work now that we're home, but, alas, Starbucks is not around the corner and I rarely get to finish a cup of coffee. Having three children between the ages of four and eight is emotionally grueling, even when you have plenty of help. First, there is the sheer noise, which seems multiplied by four or five. Then there is the regression. Meimei, the original Princess Whose Feet Never Touch the Ground, insists on being carried even more than usual, wants to be accompanied to the bathroom and confessed yesterday that she does not like to sit in the chairs at school. "Where do you sit?" I asked her. "On the rug," she said (that's rug in the Montessori sense).
"What does the teacher say?"
"She says 'Please sit in a chair.'"
"And what do you do?"
"Nothing."

"Then what happens?"
"The teacher says, 'Get in that chair right now.'"
"And what do you say?"
"Nothing."
"Do you sit in the chair?
"I don't like the chair."

OK, on to Jiejie. She now needs me to sit beside her while she does her homework. The homework is taking longer and longer to finish. I think she just wants some mommy time, but we could have a lot more fun if we just finished the homework and moved on. I am delighted that she enjoys the timed Rocket Math drills so much that she likes to white out the answers and do them again later. But she, too, is regressing even as she takes her new older brother under her wing. T.J.'s hoarding behaviors have touched off Jiejie's, and she is becoming ultrapossessive of her things and even more clingy with me.  Tonight is the first night she has consented to sleep in her own bed (for a prize in the morning). Since Daddy was sleeping with T.J., the girls have been sleeping with me, one on each arm, pinning me to the bed crucifixion style. The other night neither girl liked the story I told. Jiejie demanded another, but she was already being shortchanged on sleep, so I refused. When she repeated her request again and again, I threatened to cancel a play date if she asked one more time. So she stopped, but continued whining loudly and wordlessly for a solid hour until I told a super-short story about Fred from "Fred: The Movie" (you don't want to know).

And then there is T.J. He's improving in so many ways, gaining more control over his temper bit by bit, making more eye contact, no longer turning his back on me when I speak to him. When we talk to him, and have our words translated, even words as simple as, "Would you like dumplings or noodles for dinner?" he often says wonderingly, endearingly: "Wo? (Me?)" But he is still grabbing toys, crying when he has to share and balking at taking turns, and although he has learned to hug us and blow us kisses, he is far from trusting us as his parents and vastly prefers his Mandarin-speaking caregivers unless Mom and Dad are bearing gifts.