Puff the Magic Dragon Lives On

10 Years Later Note:
Rereading this after ten years brings back such sweet memories. I’m so glad I now have a class full of littles who don’t mind my singing. I dusted off this version of Puff the Magic Dragon that I created and shared it with them—it was a big hit. Now I just need to learn to play the ukulele, because that would really seal the deal!

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Thing 3 is now two. He has a love-hate relationship with dragons. He gets scared when he sees them, but still asks me to sing songs about them. His favorite right now is, of course, “Puff the Magic Dragon.”

“Sing dragon, Mommy. Back, back,” he says, asking me to sing the Puff song while rubbing his back.

I LOVE this. I could do it forever—if my back didn’t get tired, if my other boys didn’t need the same kind of attention, and if the dishes weren’t also calling to me. Actually… forget the dishes. We don’t really need them anyway.

When Thing 1 was about four years old, I sang “Puff” to him and he cried. I guess I sang it a little too dirge-like, as my dear husband would say. But honestly, I want to cry when I sing it too—it tells a rather sad story. To this day, Thing 1 won’t let me sing it when he’s around.

I never even attempted it with Thing 2 because I didn’t want to traumatize him.

To avoid that with Thing 3, I made up my own little final verse. Now I love this song even more—and I briefly considered sending it off to Peter, Paul, and Mary for a rewrite. Just kidding. But seriously, what were they thinking?

Here’s the song, along with my final verse, for you to enjoy and sing with your littles.

Happy Tales!
Kristen

Puff the Magic Dragon

by Lenny Lipton 
(with a special verse by me, KS Sandoz)

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. oh! 


Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail 
Jackie kept a lookout perched on Puff's gigantic tail, 
Noble kings and princes would bow whenever they came, 
Pirate ships would lower their flag when Puff roared out his name. oh! 

A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys 
Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys. 
One grey 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 into his cave. oh! 

Little Jackie Paper grew up and had a child,
She was just as curious and even a little wild.

One day, she found a cave in a Honalee Bay

She crawled right in and woke great Puff, and they began to play. oh!

Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea 
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honalee, 
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea 
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honalee.

I'm Sorry: A Family Story

2026 Note:

My dad passed away 12 years ago this month.  My mom passed away just last month.  This story feels more important to me now than ever.  It also reminds me of the picture book "The Hardest Word: A Yom Kippur Story" that I will definitely be busting out to read with my students next year.  The story I share below demonstrates just how hard the words "I'm sorry" can be for some people.  I only remember my dad apologizing to me two times in my life, and they were profound moments for me.  He was a big, strong Marine who rarely saw the need.  But I can tell you, as a parent with 2 adult children and 1 middle schooler, that practicing the art of apologizing has only strengthened my relationship with my kids and modeled this skill to them.  If this is not something you are adept at as a parent, I highly recommend you start practicing.

Kristen

The Important Truth about 2014

A new year is well underway! I am so excited to be in 2014. This year, I want to laugh more with my boys, get fit, write more consistently, and speak about storytelling. These goals sound simple enough—but when I really think about what it will take to follow through, I feel a little terrified.

The voices creep in:
You can’t write. No one wants to hear what you have to say. You’re not a warm, fuzzy mom. You’re lazy. You don’t have time. Your body is too far gone. Your spelling makes you look incompetent. You aren’t fun or entertaining. Maybe something is wrong with you.

It’s the past that haunts me most. As a storyteller, every time someone finds a mistake in my writing, I feel pulled back to childhood—sitting in a classroom, being corrected in front of everyone, feeling small and incapable. I remember thinking my sister was the writer, the funny one, the entertainer. And as a mother, I replay my own shortcomings like a film I can’t turn off.

But this is a new year. And in 2014, I am choosing to remind myself that the past does not define my future. I need to speak truth to myself.

Here are a few truths I’m holding onto this year:

I do not have to be a “good writer” to be a good storyteller. I started this blog to capture stories for my boys. They are growing up quickly, and I feel the urgency to share what’s in my heart with theirs while I still can. They don’t care about perfect spelling or grammar—but they will care if they never hear the end of a story. That is what matters.

Storytelling connects me to my boys. Even on the hardest days, if I tuck them in and tell or read a story, then at least the last thing we shared was something good. Sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we reconnect. That is what I want them to remember—that they are loved.

I also believe there are others out there who hesitate to tell stories because they don’t see themselves as writers or storytellers. My hope is that they discover what I have: that the benefits far outweigh the risks. Storytelling has been a balm, a bridge, and a thread that ties me to my boys.

So this year, I’m choosing not to let old voices hold me back.

If you enjoy the stories I share, that is a gift to me. And if my imperfect spelling and grammar show anything, I hope it’s a willingness to be real and to share anyway. Maybe it will even encourage you to tell your own stories to your children.

You might be surprised by the truth you discover.

Happy Tales!
Kristen