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.

Our family room really is a family room.

Sometimes, all five of us are in the same room doing different things, but we’re together nonetheless. It’s where we read, watch television, use the computer, play games, review school papers and have family discussions.

Last week, a campaign ad caught my daughter’s attention, and she asked me, “Is Mitt Romney a bad guy?” And she definitely asked in the same manner she would ask if a villain in a Spider-Man story is a bad guy.

My answer was a quick “no.”

Regardless which presidential candidate parents prefer, we should be careful not to expose our children to negative messages that are often full of lies.

I’m sure we can find enough assets and flaws in each candidate’s proven record that we don’t need to rely on 30-second attack ads, which are peddled by both Republicans and Democrats.

My 8-year-old daughter is naturally precocious and is the type of child who will relentlessly research whatever she doesn’t know. In the last week she has performed Google searches for Bain Capital, Wisconsin and Clint Eastwood.

As she did research on the latter, she said, “Mom, he has more kids than you.”

She watched the Republican convention with us until her 9 p.m. bedtime, and she’ll watch the Democratic convention with us this week.

CNN may not be a popular network for most children, but Cienna enjoys it as though it’s a sociology experiment. She loves watching speeches and analysis, and then she shares her own thoughts.

I also like to believe I’ve impressed upon her the importance of an informed electorate.

The conventions give her a chance to hear ideas of both parties and also learn a more personal side of each candidate.

After this week’s event, I hope she learns our candidates aren’t bad guys. They are men who want to lead the country, which is a noble goal in its own right.  They have different philosophies surrounding how that should be done, but they’re both patriots. They’re both husbands and fathers and Americans who love their country and its people.

Unfortunately, those facts often are omitted in ads that are short enough to be tuned out by adults but long enough to leave the wrong impression on a child.

Traditionally, mothers-to-be were showered with gifts before the arrival of their first baby, receiving everything from car seats to cribs.

It was silently expected that those big-ticket items would be passed on to younger siblings, who typically didn’t receive the same barrage of presents.

But modern moms aren’t just getting showered; they’re also getting sprinkled.

Sprinkle showers are all the rave for second-time mamas (and those ladies having a third, fourth or fifth baby). These baby-shower-lite events are designed to help parents with the little necessities of having a little one, such as diapers, wipes, bottles, bibs, baby wash and more.

Though I have three children, I never had a sprinkle. My oldest children are a girl and a boy, so I was blessed with two showers that gave me all the pink and blue a parent would ever need.

Our youngest son, Dimitri, inherited many things from his brother, who is just two years older than him. With several doting grandparents eager to spoil him, he never missed out by not having his own shower.

However, had I known about sprinkles four years ago, I would’ve hoped for one.

I won’t lie: it’s fun to receive gifts. It’s even more fun to build a registry. But it’s even more important to celebrate every child.

Babies are a blessing, and they each deserve their own special welcome.

It’s time to stop worrying about outdated etiquette. With second and third marriages increasing in popularity, and families continuing to grow during a slow economy, one-time showers are a thing of the past.

Modern social graces allow for both sprinkles and showers. It’s all about what your needs are, according to a post about baby shower etiquette on Martha Stewart’s website.

Even if you’re having a second, third or fourth child, you don’t have to have a sprinkle. It can be a shower if you’ve had a lot of space between children, are pregnant with a different sex than your other children or are expecting multiples.

Party themes vary, as some events focus on different items.  For example, if diapers are your greatest need, create an incentive for guests to bring them. Include in an invite, “Bring a pack of diapers, and your name will be entered into a drawing for a great door prize.” Just make sure the door prize is, indeed, great.

It’s silly to worry people will assume you’re soliciting gifts by having yet another shower or sprinkle. If you have to worry about someone thinking differently of you because you’re welcoming a child into the world, then that’s the someone who doesn’t belong at your party.

As Dr. Seuss said, “Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter, don’t mind.”

You are soliciting gifts, but that’s OK.

You’re having a baby. You’re bringing a new life, a person, into the world. That is always worth celebrating–no matter how many times you do it.

And if you can’t solicit gifts from your closest family and friends, who can you solicit gifts from?

Her strides are a little slower, but her hair and skin still look amazing.

With sun-kissed shoulders we pass each other on Jacobus walking trails, smiling when we move toward each other in opposite directions.

I don’t know her name, but I do know she’s in her third trimester of her first pregnancy. “Seven more weeks,” she said on Saturday.

Because we’re little more than friendly neighbors, I simply gave a silent applause and thumbs up, as a playlist pushed me through my last laps.

But there was so much I wanted to tell her:

Don’t wish this away. Stall time whenever you can because you won’t have this moment twice.

Sure, there are sleepless nights—first caused by a Buddha belly that limits sleeping positions and later due to a newborn’s feeding cycle. And there are so many things you can’t wait to do with and show your baby.

But once that baby’s about 6 months old you’re going to long for those days of spending hours in a rocking chair, fashioning your favorite songs into lullabies, touching tiny fingers and toes, searching a small face for the features of someone you love, staring at all the hope and potential that can fit inside a receiving blanket.

The first born offers a luxury the second one does not: sleeping when the baby sleeps. Most likely, there will be a toddler or preschooler who needs your attention when you have a second child. So enjoy the singular demands of your one baby, and sleep when he sleeps.

There’s a serenity that sweeps over the room (or perhaps you’re so tired that you drift into a self-induced coma), as you and your child sleep near each other. In those moments, you will know the biological connection. And you will know love.

Enjoy it. Cherish it. Extend it for as long as you can.

Don’t worry if your house is clean or if you’ve started losing the baby weight. Your baby doesn’t need those things. Your baby needs you—your voice, your heartbeat, your love. Spend days among books and baskets of laundry that will eventually be put away by kind mothers and in-laws.

Take showers, but don’t worry if you have no time for makeup. You’re a new mom, and you’re beautiful. You’re exhausted and a little pale, but you are glowing with happiness.

When you’re overwhelmed from sleeping no more than two hours at a time, remember what it was like to want pregnancy. Remember how it felt to pass tiny dresses and socks in stores, hoping to add them to your baby’s layette someday. Remember the hours you spent thinking and talking about the family and life you would build with your partner.

Then go look at that baby—porcelain skin, the space between tiny breaths, little eyelashes, chubby cheeks and precious innocence.

Your heart will heave with a love that grows exponentially every day.

You’re a mom now. Someone will love and need you every day for the rest of their life. It will eventually get hectic, chasing toddlers, teaching preschoolers, carpooling students and making it to multiple events in their lives.

But one day they’re going to stop asking to hold your hand when they cross the street, and it will make your heart beat black and blue for a minute.

So, for now, just slow down and hold your baby for as long as you can.