I love this sequence of pictures of our granddaughter, Charlie. I know how she feels and what she is thinking.

1) “I know you want me to smile, but I need a minute.”

2) “I’m going to pretend you’re not there. I need a minute.”

3) “You just don’t get it do you? I need a minute.”

4) “Please, just get out of my face for one MINUTE!”

Some people call it “alone time.” Some say, “I need my space.” Some pout, some have a meltdown, some whimper, and some shout. We all handle it differently, but we all have those moments when things just get to be too much and we’re no longer rational. We’re off when others want us to be on. We’re not feeling the gratitude or appreciation.

Here is my theory.. It all started with the starving children overseas. You know, the ones your parents told you about to guilt you into cleaning your plate.

I never heard the word “stress” when I was growing up. If you have an old Webster’s Dictionary, the definition is something about pressed wood. Now stress is the reason for everything we do that’s bad, like drinking, smoking, eating too much, taking too many sick days, and a multitude of other bad things.

I sometimes think of something my Mother said in the middle of one of her meltdowns. Someone told her that she had no business acting the way she did because she should be grateful that one of the “what ifs,” wasn’t happening to her. What if you didn’t know where your next meal was coming from? What if you or someone you love was fighting some terrible disease?

Mom’s mood didn’t improve one bit, because she was a worrier. She hadn’t thought about some of those things. Now she was worried AND felt ashamed. Her answer? “If people don’t have big things to worry about, they worry about little things.” She had a point. You’ve heard the expression, “Cheer up. Things could be worse.” Sometimes followed by, “So I cheered up and sure enough, things got worse.”

Do we really not have the right to feel like Charlie did unless the very worst has happened? Sometimes, all we need is a minute. If we don’t get it, we might need professional help.

The other side of this is that you must recognize when others need a minute. Like our granddaughter Skyler in the picture above. You have just said “No” to a four year old. They might not be able to articulate it, but in most cases they need a minute to come up with plan B…or maybe you need a minute to think about what their plan B will be.

This time of year, is inherently stressful. We’re all looking for that special gift for the person who already has everything. We want our kids and grandkids to understand the meaning of Christmas, but they still make a list as long as your arm. Be easy on yourself. Ask them what they got for Christmas last year. You might get a look like this.

I’m in favor of having a “Give me a minute day.” A day when all you have to say is, “I need a minute,” and everyone will know if you don’t have that minute to gather yourself, or re-center your life, they will suffer the consequences no matter how many children overseas are starving.

I realize not everyone is going to agree with me. In that case, I’ll give you a minute.

This is a text I received from my brother, Billy, this morning.

“It is 3:09 a.m. I just finished your book. It was wonderful. I am off to bed as soon as I wipe the tears one more time!”

Murdo Girl Memories… small town life in the 50’s and 60’s

Tap the link below and read sample pages on any device (no kindle app needed)

http://a.co/0SdjEoQ

Paperback cover                   Kindle eBook

The paperback version of this book is filled with pictures that  are really important to the story. If you buy the paperback, you can get the kindle version for $1.99 and lend it to others. The book has been a labor of love. You’ll laugh out loud from beginning to end.

I have been spending the last few months updating and adding kindle versions to all of my books which include…

Connie’s Story, co-authored with Eddie Jackson, is a story of a brave young girl who, with the help of her forever friend, struggles to find a way to deal with a tragic event in her life. You will feel every emotion as you read about the unique relationships that are  formed and the mysteries that must be solved.

http://a.co/6e1mWrH

Dakota’s Story, features incredible photographs by Dianna Kenobbie Diehm. It takes place in the late 1800’s when gold was discovered and the U.S.Government took over the Black Hills and killed off the buffalo herds which were the Native American’s livelihood. Dakotah is a young girl, who after spending her childhood in a government boarding school, goes in search of the family she has never known. (Wait until you meet her dog, Soo’-Tah.) This book is available in full color edition, black and white edition, and kindle format.

http://a.co/7yb4dBk

And of course my children’s books…

We Shall See what We Shall See, a children’s rhyming story about a character called a Beasterhop.

http://a.co/acP9g2f

A Thanksgivington Christmas, a delightful Beasterhop story written with my granddaughter, Charlie.

http://a.co/h2EfOhT

All of these books offer special pricing on the kindle version if you purchase the paperback copy or read the eBook free if you have Kindle Unlimited.

All are available on amazon.com. Look under books for Mary Francis McNinch…

These books will make great Christmas gifts. There is not much profit above the cost to publish them, but I intend to make donations to the Jones County Elementary School in Murdo, SD for the Stephanie Miller-Davis children’s reading program, and the Cedar Creek Library in Seven Points, TX.

Thanks for your support.

My brother, Billy, doesn’t talk about his childhood as much as I do, but then most people don’t. He doesn’t understand how I can remember things from the time I was two.

Last night I was talking to him and he was telling me about going turkey hunting with Grandpa Sanderson. Grandpa applied for every hunting permit he could and got any license available to hunt and fish.

On this particular day, they went looking for a turkey. They parked near a big hill, left Grandma in the car, and proceeded to carry out Grandpa’s plan to scare up a turkey.

Billy, who was around ten at the time, walked along one side of the hill and Grandpa walked along the other side. It was in the afternoon, so Grandpa told Billy to make sure the sun was in front of him. That way he wouldn’t get lost. They would meet up as they rounded the hill.

As Billy was walking, the weather started to turn and it began to cloud up and snow. Soon, he could no longer see the sun. He panicked and made the decision to turn around and run towards where he thought the car was. It wasn’t long before he realized he was lost.

Grandpa had always told him that if such a thing happened, he should go down the hill until he got to a creek or fence line. Something he could follow that would most likely lead him to where he would be found.

Thankfully, he remembered Grandpa’s words of wisdom. As he got closer to the bottom, he barely heard Grandpa calling for him. Billy said they were about a quarter of a mile from each other.

As they walked to the car, Grandpa said it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to tell Grandma he had gotten lost.

Their next challenge was to get the car back on the road. It had snowed quite a bit by then and it was getting dark. Billy said Grandpa had a pretty high powered car back then and when he gunned it, it got him places most cars couldn’t go.

I’m sure Grandpa was pretty terrified when he thought his young grandson was lost on that hill. As he waited at the bottom, he must have prayed that Billy would remember what he had told him to do. It was a situation that could have ended in tragedy.

I’ve had a few close calls in my lifetime. I’m sure most people have. That car that barely missed slamming into us or the time we caught a child about to be in harm’s way.

How often do we think about those times when the worst didn’t happen…when we were saved from experiencing a disaster that would have altered our lives forever?

Those recollections will change resentments into gratitude in a hurry!

If you’re feeling blue

and don’t know what to do

Take it from me

There’s a remedy

Look up not down

Smile don’t frown

If a worry keeps nagging

And your feet are dragging

Forget about that

Just wear a red hat!

If the pollen machine

Has you feeling green

Your nose is stuffy

And your eyes are puffy

Your throat is raw

Food tastes blah

And you can’t chit chat

Just wear a red hat

If the future looks black

You must fight back

Find ways to cope

That give you hope

Lighten the load

Before you explode

Hardhead or pussycat

Wear a red hat

(A red hat copycat)

Does it sound too easy?

Is my poem too cheesy?

Is your color yellow?

Is your will like jello?

Don’t despair

Say a prayer

What am I getting at?

Why wear a red hat?

Why not? I say!

You would make my day!

Thanks to my friend, Rebecca, for the two pics of the above hat!

Not long ago, we went to a family member’s house for chicken and dumplings. They were delicious. A couple of weeks later, (maybe it was only ten days), I happened to be there again and was asked if I wanted a bowl of chicken and dumplings.

I’ll admit I was a little leary and I had to ask if it was the same chicken and dumplings I’d had the last time I was there. I wanted to know if it had been languishing in her refrigerator since then.

She said,”Well, yes, but it’s practically new. I added more chicken when there was just dumplings left and then more dumplings when I still had chicken, but the dumplings were gone.”

Kip and I do something similar with pumpkin pie. I don’t make it anymore. I buy it at Walmart. We always get a pie and a container of whipped cream about a week before Thanksgiving. By Thanksgiving Day, we’ve eaten all of the pie, but not all the whipped cream, so we buy a couple of more pies and one more whipped cream. We run out of whipped cream first, so back to the store we go for more pie because we can’t waste that perfectly good whipped cream. By Christmas, we’re sick of both of them.

Mom once got on this plum pudding kick. It was more like a dense, dark, fruitcake that she baked in a coffee can. She made something called hard sauce to pour over the top. It’s difficult to describe what it tasted like. All you need to know is it had lard in it and it stuck to the roof of your mouth.

Kip had just met Mom when she placed a big slice of plum pudding with hard sauce in front of him. She sat down at the table with him and watched as he choked down every bite. He decided it must have been some kind of test.

When we lived on the lake, the kids and grandkids came for all the summer holidays. Towards the end of one summer, our grandson, Mike, was there. I had made my special banana pudding that everyone loved. Mike said, “We’re having banana pudding, again?” His mother gave him ‘the look’ so he added, “I’ve had it a lot of times, but I still like it.”

I vowed to make plum pudding with hard sauce the next time. Or I could give him something like this pie I got at an all you can eat cafeteria. The banana was hidden under the filling when I picked it out.

Don’t even get me started on leftovers. I’ll just say nothing goes directly from the plate or pan to the garbage. It has to sit for at least a week in one of the fifteen sizes of plastic containers I use to store them in. I know I’m not alone in this. I always think I’ll make soup with the contents. It’s been several years since I’ve made soup from leftovers, but you never know. I could always add dumplings.

When my youngest son, who will turn 42 on Saturday, was just 6 months old, I took him to the doctor. He had a cold and I expected the doctor to look him over, see if he had a fever, and prescribe some of that pink stuff that all kids hate.

When he finished the examination, the doctor asked me if I was aware the baby’s soft spot, (fontanelle), had closed up. I said I had noticed, and I’d always been told that was a good thing because you had to be so careful while the soft spot was still soft. The doctor told me that was not the case and referred me to a neurosurgeon in Rapid City, which is about 150 miles from where we lived in Wyoming.

That doctor told us it was important that the fontanelle remain open until the baby was 2 yrs old or his head would not grow correctly. His exact words were, “It will not affect his brain, but he will have an unusually high, dome-shaped, forehead and a flat face, like someone hit him in the face with a board.”

Time was of the essence and surgery was to be in a couple of weeks.

A friend of mine from high school lived in Rapid City. She was kind enough to let me stay at her house and volunteered to watch my 5 yr old, Mason, while Craig was in the hospital.

My mother and mother-in-law drove, together, from Murdo to be there for the surgery which was scheduled for 7 a.m. Craig, of course, could not have any milk or water after midnight. He started crying around 6.

We were told that due to an emergency surgery, Craig’s surgery would be delayed. I walked the halls with my red-faced baby for hours and became concerned he would become so weak, he might not withstand the surgery. They were going to open his skull and line one side with plastic to keep it open. The bone would eventually grow over the plastic and the fontanelle would close up again.

My mother and mother-in-law were near hysteria. My mother, shall we say, “loudly confronted,” the doctor and my mother-in-law cried, when he came to tell us Craig’s surgery would be around noon. He asked them if they wished for him to throw the person currently having emergency surgery out of the operating room? My mother who was never one to hide her concerns said something that offended him.

The good doctor took me aside and said Craig would be just fine, but he was going to refuse to operate if the “moms” didn’t knock it off. He felt they were upsetting me and maybe I should send them home.

I knew I couldn’t do that, but I did get them to calm down and Craig did great. When the doctor came to tell us the surgery was over, he said that Craig was awake and sitting up. Mom said, “That’s funny, he couldn’t sit up before the surgery.”

I got to take my baby home in a few days. He looked so pathetic with his head bandages the size of a football helmet and both eyes were black and blue.

We had just bought a house and hadn’t had time to get the furniture we needed and get the washer and dryer hooked up. We had barely moved in.

A couple of days after getting home, I had the kids at the laundromat and I was mortified when I heard Mason tell a lady who was looking at us funny, that we we had to use lawn chairs for furniture and he needed a bed. She asked him what happened to the baby and he said he didn’t know.

I tried to explain.

Craig’s head grew just fine. He has a scar from ear to ear that he has always worn like a badge of courage. We taught him and his brother how to explain to people how he got it.