The Woodall kids are some of my favorite comedians.

The following conservations–which Facebook kindly preserved for me during the last six weeks–are good examples of why they have me laughing several times a day.

(This one proves I’m one of those people who cleans more thoroughly when I know we’re getting company)
Cienna: Nana and Pappy are visiting this weekend. You know what that means.
Ty: What? We get toys?
Cienna: It means Mom is going to make us clean underneath all the couches.

(This one proves Ty thinks school breaks extend to chores at home)
Larry: It’s time to clean the playroom, guys.
Ty: But, Dad, we’re on winter break until Tuesday.

(This one proves some kid-friendly restaurants pick interesting background music)
Cienna: So did this guy write this song before or after he had one bourbon, one scotch and one beer?

(This one proves Dimitri frequently tries to make his own rules)
Me: Dimitri, did you just pee in the (bathroom) garbage can?
Dimitri: Yes my did.
Me: Why?
Dimitri: Boys pee everywhere.

(This one proves I have frequently exposed my daughter to the Rolling Stones)
Dimitri: Can I have the iPad now?
Me: It’s not your turn right now. It’s your sister’s turn.
Dimitri: But my said please.
Me: Yes, you did, and that was nice. But it’s Cienna’s turn now.
Ty: You can’t always get what you want, Dim.
Cienna: But you get what you need.

Late winter never really gets its due.

Most of my friends have been lamenting the snow and colder temperatures since December. In fairness, the majority of them live in Pittsburgh, New York and Boston where the season hasn’t been mild like the weather York has seen.

But in our family, this has always been an exciting time of year. I was lucky to have my 4-year-old son during the weekend of the Golden Globes, and my 6-year-old son was born the weekend of the Academy Awards. So I’ve always used the awards weekends as an excuse to have dress-up parties, during which we pretend we’re classy enough for the red carpet and fill out ballots to pick who we think will go home with the awards.

This weekend, when Seth McFarlane hosts the Oscars on Sunday, we will celebrate once again. I will inevitably hang on McFarlane’s every word, as he is my favorite kind of genius and I’ve accepted that my sense of humor never matured past age 13.

The kids won’t really make it past the first half hour of the show, nor will they really care about that half hour. They’re in it for the snacks and the best animated feature film.

Cienna, Ty and Dimitri unanimously agree “Wreck-It Ralph” should “win the gold.”

Though they’ll go to sleep long before  the show ends, my husband will still have to suffer through my critique of gowns and speeches.

Oh, and I’ll cry.

He predicts I’ll  even cry during the tribute to James Bond movies.

It’s quite possible. Pregnancy hormones have recently made me cry during the trailers for “The Great and Powerful Oz,” “Jurassic Park” and “Man of Steel.” In fairness, my friend Joe, who works in the TV and movie industry in Los Angeles, also cried during the trailer for “Jurassic Park.” Maybe we’re just sad we’re 20 years older than when we first saw it.

I’m definitely that pregnant woman who cries during Hallmark commercials and is totally in love with her family. It’s as though every day I find a new reason to be thankful for what I have.

So the colder weather doesn’t bother me, even if those same hormones have prevented me from being able to get warm even one day this season.

I’m looking forward to this weekend and all that next month has to offer: finding out if Baby Woodall is a boy or girl, the beginning of the kids’ soccer and baseball seasons, weekend adventures, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter and more.

Oh, and next month spring begins.

But there’s still some winter left to enjoy.

Obviously I couldn’t think of a better way to return to this blog than with a play on Mark Morrison’s “Return of the Mack.”

But, in this case, the MAC represents “mother and child” as opposed to any homage to Morrison’s 90′s R&B hit.

That I’m resuming my writing should be better news than what Wikipedia tells me about the fate of Morrison’s (one) hit song. Though the single went platinum it was kept from Billboard’s coveted number one spot in 1997 by Hanson’s “MMMBop.”

I promise I haven’t been spending my hiatus researching 90s music (though it was really fun decade). I was actually busy growing a baby.

Our best friends and family knew first, my coworkers found out Jan. 2, and since then I’ve been trying to keep my mouth shut until I was well into my second trimester.

I knew I wasn’t ready to announce my pregnancy to the masses, but I also didn’t want to edit the truth out of our family stories. So many things that have happened lately that revolve around the fact our family is growing: a new home, a new vehicle, funny conversations with the kids and copious amounts of reading.

You might think I wouldn’t need to do as much research, given that this isn’t my first pregnancy. But so much has changed since I had my son four years ago. For example, most infant foods are served in pouches I’m convinced astronauts use.

That those pouches can be squeezed into the mouth of a baby is actually kind of disturbing to my husband and me. Are glass jars now as popular as Morrison?

These are clearly the most important questions I have to answer this time around.

Until next time, please know how happy I am to share the wonderful news with all of you and how much I look forward to getting back to my regular updates.

Cienna, Ty and Dimitri were happy to see Santa, who on Sunday was visiting Brown’s Orchards & Farm Market in Loganville.

All Dimitri wants for Christmas is 10.

Every time my 3–year-old son visits Santa, he holds up his hands and spreads his fingers, showing the man in red that he wants 10 things.

He’s not discriminative about which 10 things he wants–choo choos, Power Rangers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and SpongeBob toys will all suffice.

Usually, his visits with Santa are so quick he doesn’t have time to rattle off his list. Long lines at malls and other places have discouraged him and my other children from doing much more than sitting on Santa’s lap and smiling quickly for an overpriced photo package.

We were all delighted to recently find an adorable alternative at a Loganville farm.

My family and I regularly shop at Brown’s Orchards & Farm Market, and we were pleasantly surprised to learn Santa also patronizes the community hub.

On Sunday, signs directed us to the Greenhouse Wonderland, where Santa was perched on a bench next to a bowl of candy canes, surrounded by a makeshift Christmas landscape.

There weren’t any long lines, parents took their own photos, children talked to Santa for as long as they needed to, and they all walked away with peppermint candy canes and the promise of Christmas morning in their eyes.

Ty, my 5-year-old son, was quick to give Santa a piece of advice almost as good as the cookies we will leave for him Monday evening.

“If you don’t want to walk up steps with all those toys, you don’t have to use our front door. You can go to the back door, and there are no steps there to our living room,” Ty said.

Regardless of which door Santa chooses, I can’t wait to see which presents he leaves for my kids, all the while knowing their joy and excitement are the best gifts of all.

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Santa will be at Brown’s again from 5 to 7 p.m. Wednesday, when kids eat for free at Brown’s Cafe & Coffee Bar with each adult meal purchased.

If you miss Santa on Wednesday, he will return to farm 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Saturday and from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. Sunday.

For more information on events at Brown’s or to see a menu for the cafe, visit www.brownsorchards.com.

When something terrible happens, child psychologists say it’s best to be brief when trying to explain tragedy to kids.

So when Cienna, 9, and Ty, 5, had questions about the school massacre that took the lives of 20 children in Connecticut, I did my best to answer them.

Ty, who adores going to Kindergarten, was full of fear. With tears in his eyes, he asked, “Is the bad guy coming here next?”

I struggled to be strong and answer my son without crying. I tried to chase away images of a community living in horror during a season that’s supposed to be full of hope. I also tried to learn what my children heard about the crime between the school bus and our front door.

“No, he is not coming here. He is not alive anymore, and he will never hurt anyone again,” I said.

Deep down, I knew the gunman’s actions would affect some families forever, but I was trying to make my children feel safe and secure.

Cienna’s questions were a little harder to answer.

“Why would someone kill a little kid?” she asked.

I didn’t know. I still don’t know.

“There are bad people in the world, and somtimes they do terrible things. But you are safe, you are loved and everything will be OK,” I said.

Even as I said that, I silently prayed they wouldn’t become hardened by the collection of similar tragedies in recent years. I don’t want them to be afraid of going to hear a U.S. lawmaker speak or to attend the opening night of an anticipated movie or to shop at the mall or go to school.

“For every bad person, there are hundreds of good people. Thousands of good people. Millions of good people,” I said.

And I wasn’t being hyperbolic. In my lifetime, I’ve learned at least one thing to be true: For every villain, there’s a hero.

I knew I had done my job when their frowns faded away.

Soon, things started to feel a little closer to normal as I watched them play soccer with one of our neighbors.

The mother of my children’s friend sat next to me. I made her a cup of tea, and we enjoyed it in silence.

We had no words.

Maybe we were thankful to hear the laughter of our children. Maybe we felt guilty for feeling thankful.

But mostly our hearts were heavy as we thought and prayed for parents who would never hear that laughter again.

Cienna was born precocious, so I’ve had to field many interesting questions during the last nine years.

I specifically remember taking her to a photography studio when she was 2-years-old and having her ask me, “Why you dress me in orange, Mommy? Do you hate me?”

Luckily, I was able to reaffirm my love by reminding her that she was awesome. “Awesome people look great in every color,” I said.

And she did, in fact, look adorable in orange.

The much-loved 2-year-old Cienna during a photo shoot.

Seven years later she still asks questions that make me laugh; yesterday, after looking through a scrapbook I made to remember her earlier years, she said, “Who is Ja Rule? What did they do, and why is their name Ja Rule?”

In her scrapbook was a list of popular artists, songs, movies and average prices when she was born in 2003. That year, Ja Rule’s “Always on Time” was popular, and that’s why the rapper was included in her scrapbook.

“But why is his name Ja Rule?” she said.

I explained it was a stage name, but that didn’t soothe her curiosity.

“We need to Google him and find out what his real name is,” she said.

As we learned, Ja Rule’s real name is Jeffrey Atkins.

And just when I thought I was in the clear, she said, “OK. Now look up Phillip Phillips because I’m not convinced that’s his real name.”

The inquisitive Cienna “all grown up” at 9 years old. She claims 9 years old is “a big deal because it’s halfway to 18.”

Aside from the loves of my life, nothing makes me happier than a Christmas tree.

My family and I started decorating the Saturday after Thanksgiving, hoping to create a Woodall Wonderland, and every day I think we add something new to add joy in our home.

Each time I walk to my door and see the live wreath and garland, or see the lights and smell the live Douglas fir in our living room, I smile wider than Jimmy Stewart during his best moments in “It’s a Wonderful Life!”

Here are photos of some of our work so far:

And here are some of the little elves who helped me decorate: