The Trouble With T.J.

Jiejie said it best. "T.J. is the star. He gets all the attention." She said it matter-of-factly, without tears or obvious malice, but it's clear that having a new brother is taking a toll on the Supersisters. I tried to explain to Jiejie that attention was not a matter of merit but of need, and that the new child, to whom the family and the language are a mystery and source of fear, needs a stronger dose, administered more often, of just about every comfort a parent can offer. Jiejie agreed that she was far more sophisticated than her slightly older brother. Meimei, I told her, was also more emotionally mature than her brother. "For real," said Jiejie with a touch of rue, perhaps over Meimei's seemingly innate compassion. But even Meimei has been flinging herself to the floor and declaring her loneliness (from about 18 inches away) as I sit beside  T.J. at the dining room table trying to demystify some aspect of family living. T.J. on the other hand is sure that we are unfair to him and that everyone is out to cheat him out of a toy, a book, a plasma car ride or a cookie. When he thinks he has won, he likes to rub it in.  He was positively gloating today at being the only one to receive the morning trophy and handshake for staying in his own room past dawn. (note to self: order more trophies; palm trees dangerously depleted.) And he likes to tattle. Relentlessly. What makes me feel bad, however, is that I am losing patience. I used to keep any anger I felt about the kids' misdeeds hidden and separate from any discipline I meted out. I vowed never to be like my parents and others of their generation: I would not "get mad." Until now. Sometimes the sheer noise is enough. Tonight it was three kids on my lap as I tried to type a note to Jiejie's teacher requesting that she be allowed to relinquish her spoken lines in favor of lip syncing with the chorus at the Martin Luther King birthday pageant at school and a note to T.J.'s teacher asking if he could be part of the after-school tutoring program in language arts and whether or not he could join the Read-a-Thon as a "listener" to stories read by others. Neither printer worked. Two little cups of water were spilled. Tears were shed. The forms are not filled out. The checks are not written for the after-school classes. But the kids are asleep and it's not quite midnight.