in a land called honalee

Last Monday, Henry and I met the children at the bus stop.



School is a long day for them. They leave the house at 7:45 in the morning and don't return home until 3:30 in the afternoon. So when they climbed off the bus, their faces lit up when they saw us. They all yelled "HIYA MOM! HIYA HENRY!" but then they jetted past, running as fast as they could to keep up with the older neighborhood children.

Henry stayed with me, holding my hand and jabbering on about dinosaurs. As I watched my "big" kids running down the street with their backpacks swinging, I gripped the hand of the little four-year-old next to me and smiled when he grinned up at me with his big blue eyes. When we made it to our house, five minutes later, the triplets were climbing trees and laughing. They surely would have missed me if I'd taken much longer to arrive. Not because they needed me for any maternal reason ... except unlocking the door so they could bolt inside and grab a snack.

And it struck me.

This is how it happens.

They venture off. They make their own friends. Slowly but surely, and sometimes in what seem like incredibly fast bursts, they grow up.

Henry's favorite book at the moment is Puff The Magic Dragon. I've long loved that story, but instead of reading it to our children, I've always sung it.

Puff the Magic Dragon, lived by the sea and frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honalee! Little Jackie Paper, loved that rascal Puff and brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff.

Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sails. Jackie kept a lookout perched on Puff's gigantic tail. Noble kings and princes would bow whene'er they came. Pirate ships would lower their flags when Puff roared out his name.

A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys. Painted wings and giants rings make way for other toys. One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more. And Puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar.

His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain. Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane. Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave, so Puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped in to his cave.

It always made me a little sad to think of Puff crying green scales like rain. But we've picked up a wonderful version of the book (that comes with it's own CD) where an adult Jackie Paper returns to Honalee with his young daughter who becomes a new play mate for Puff.

(I'm such a sap for happy endings.)

This morning, while the older children were outside with their father riding their bikes around our driveway, I was inside the house organizing donation piles of clothes and toys the children no longer wear or play with. Henry's favorite Peanut shirt from last year is way too small. The toy dog that William never let out of his grasp has long since ripped open and lost the majority of stuffing. Carolyn no longer wears her Princess dress and Elizabeth ... well, she still hoards everything. But her siblings have agreed that their items are ready to move on to Goodwill, so they've volunteered them for our charity bag.

As I was walking past the boys' bedroom carrying tiny potty chairs from our attic that have been collecting dust, I caught sight of Henry trying to get dressed. He had on his red Superman socks and was struggling to put a leg in the pants that were currently backwards. He was staggering around the room, bumping in to the dresser and the bed while singing, "Puff da magic dwagon wived by da sea and fwowocked in da auda mist by a dand cawd Honadee!"

I walked in to the living room and turned on our stereo. Cuing up Peter Paul & Mary I turned my eyes on the boys' door and patiently waited. Within a matter of seconds, once the chorus began, Henry came running out, with one leg still outside of his pants.

"Is dat Puff?!" he exclaimed.

I happily nodded yes and he jumped in to my outstretched arms, his pant falling off his leg exposing his Spiderman underwear which were also on backwards. For the next several minutes, while an abundance of house work was waiting for me, we danced around the living room loudly singing along. Soon, he put his head on my shoulder and I put my face in to his soft (still) babyish neck. After holding him for the song once ... twice ... three times, it felt like my arms were on fire. But when the song ended and he touched my cheeks and said, "Just one more time, OK Princess Mommy?" I choked down the lump in my throat and happily obliged.

Because a dragon lives forever, but not so little boys.