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.

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.

As though she was conducting her own little symphony, Cienna’s fleece-covered arms flailed about in the backseat of our Jeep Grand Cherokee.

She listed myriad giggle-inducing thrills she had to find during a Saturday trip to Hersheypark’s Christmas Candylane: The Claw, Tilt-O-Whirl, games, Smores and the man in red.

A sunny, 54-degree November day, and the harmony of instrumental Christmas music echoing from the carousel,  provided the perfect backdrop to help those wishes come true.

With three kids and two paternal grandparents in tow, we found charm and holiday spirit in the midstate. Lights in various shapes and colors hung from trees, food pavilions and other structures, with nary a corner or gate left undecorated. Live Christmas trees were potted throughout the park, and artificial ones were topped with Hershey Kisses, appealing to the part of my soul that firmly believes it’s never too early for a tree.

Several Christmas trees throughout Hersheypark were topped with Hershey’s Kisses during the opening weekend of Christmas Candylane.

As we crossed a bridge to get from one side of the park to the other, the kids stopped to feed ducks that were floating through a creek as fish swam below. In between tosses, we appreciated the glow of white and colored lights–some twinkling at different intervals, while others held a steady glow.

Some things were to be expected: the laughter of children on every ride, a cup of coffee in my father-in-law’s hand, costumed candy and my kids wanting chocolate.

The Woodall children and their grandfather met Milk Duds at Hersheypark on Saturday during the amusement park’s Christmas Candylane.

 But some things were unexpected: the opportunity to easily photograph my children with Santa, long lines that formed outside of doors to see one of the park’s Christmas shows and realizing how much my skee ball game has suffered.

Santa reminds the Woodall children to be good until Christmas, as he continues to make his list and check it twice.

It wasn’t a great game day for the Woodall family. During skee ball, a low amount of points were scored to redeem tickets for a small ball for each child. During a ball toss, there were no winners at all, calling my superior athleticism into question.

It’s quite possible my mother-in-law and I will return before season’s end to buy as many buckets of balls as we have to in order to go home with a plush Abominable Snowman. We need that flurry, messy-haired Yeti in our lives.

Games and rides aside, the park’s real magic came to life after sunset. The glow of Christmas lights reflected in my children’s eyes, visitors smiled at light displays as they carried hot chocolate and, somewhere between the park’s turnpike and the real turnpike, I realized why days like Saturday are so special.

As Black Friday grows into Black November and Cyber Monday turns into Mobile Monday, there’s no shortage of distractions this month. Shoppers aren’t waiting until Friday to get their deals this year; many stores are opening at 8 p.m. Thanksgiving Day. And we don’t need to be at a computer to shop online; we can buy things from our phones, iPads and other tablet devices.

On Thursday, when some of us may trade dessert for waiting in line at chain retailers, we’ll be thankful for days like Saturday. Days when you can let go of stress and schedules, leaving the busyness and rushing around by the wayside. Days when you don’t hurry through family dinners or worry about tomorrow. Days when your only responsibility is having fun at an amusement park.

Days when you can be young at heart, with Christmas morning in your eyes, reveling in a little holiday magic.

I’m no stranger to unusual birthday gifts.

Through the years, I’ve received a ceramic rooster, hot glue gun, bedazzler, nesting tins and–a personal favorite–being serenaded on my 22nd birthday by a 50-something drunk who pretended to have cancer. Committed to his lies, he sang happy birthday in a raspy voice as he held his fist to his throat, desperately trying to convince beer enthusiasts he had a tracheotomy. Even worse, his backup singer was a guy named “Big Daddy,” who pretended to drive limos for a nonexistant local mob, but actually drove a school bus.

On that particular birthday, my friends and I chose to roll our eyes as we ignored the truth.

But this year, the truth could not be ignored.

This particular gift started to be appropriate a few years ago when I became a vegetarian for four months. Watching someone make a mess of themselves while eating wings during a March Madness game, I decided it was time to leave that party. A July cookout, however, eventually made me cave for grilled shrimp, and I downgraded to pescetarian, adding eggs and fish into my otherwise-meatless diet.

I coasted as a pescetarian for quite some time until a three-month health scare inspired me to become a vegetarian and design my diet with plant-based products and dairy.

Then I started a new job 220 miles away from the place I called home. At my old address I was surrounded by houses, businesses and busy streets, but in my new abode there’s room to breathe. I’m within walking distance of ponds, lakes, trails, a tree farm, and some of my favorite neighbors are dairy cows.

Though the nearby Holsteins seem to graze a lot and get milked by hand–unlike those at factory farms–driving past them every day made me think of food differently.

As my 5-year-old son Ty said, ‘That’s not protein. That’s an animal.”

His words brought tears to my eyes, changing our lives one gentle, innocent, honest word at a time.

It was quite easy to find alternatives to milk, especially because I had been a fan of Silk for a long time, but I struggled to give up cheese, yogurt and ice cream.

Then I got to know Andy, a co-worker who writes a wonderful vegan blog, VegOnTheTable.com, with his wife Sara.

One of the quotes I found on their blog was shared by Ellen DeGeneres, who said, “Ignorance isn’t bliss, it’s just ignorance.” And Andy was very good at keeping me from being ignorant. When I’d say, “Oh, but I just have a little milk, a little cheese, a little ice cream…,” Andy would share all he knew about the inhumane lives dairy cows suffer at factory farms.

In the seven months since I started at the York Dispatch, I’ve also been on the fortunate end of Sara’s cooking skills. Chocolate chip cookies, blondies, muddy buddies and ice cream have been revamped in my household simply because a compassionate wife shared her recipes with my family.

Not only is the taste amazing, the recipes are an easy swap when applesauce can replace dairy, you can find milk-free chocolate chips and all you need for a frozen treat is a whipped banana.

My new way of life earned a lot of eye rolling (or maybe it was just my fashion) from family and friends who were comfortable with the status quo. They were also concerned the kids and I wouldn’t get enough protein.

Well, they were half right. I did it the wrong way for a while, taking in way too much soy for one hormonal girl to handle. But after speaking with a doctor, I found healthy protein alternatives and feel great.

For anyone considering a vegan diet for themselves or their children, I recommend consulting a physician first. Everyone has unique needs, and there are a lot of options to tailor compassionate living to each person.

It requires some planning and thought, especially in the beginning, and I researched my new lifestyle for months before fully committing to it. I didn’t want it to be some trend or fad I supported just because it’s cool to love animals.

What I found is it’s incredibly healthy if you do it the right way, and there’s a growing food movement in York County, demanding fresh, local food.

The combination of awareness and compassionate, healthy eating can lead to a higher consumption of fresh fruits and vegetables, while reducing chronic diseases, according to medical reports.

My husband, who doesn’t eat an animal-free diet, shared support among my birthday gifts this year. One of the presents was a sponsorship in my name for a cow at the Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary in Maryland. Attached was a note–”I hope it’s Jason”–and the biography of a cow who was fortunate to be derailed in Pittsburgh.

According to his animal story on the sanctuary’s website, Jason is an Angus steer who was rescued 12 years ago when the double-decker tractor trailer he was riding in crashed into a guard rail near the city.

Jason, along with 120 other cows, was  en route to a feed lot in Kansas, where he would have lived among thousands of cattle in a large dirt area with no shelter, getting fattened up on grain before being slaughtered for beef.

Though the crash killed about 100 of the animals, Jason survived and was rescued by the former OohMahNee animal sanctuary in Westmoreland County. But the animal farm didn’t really have room for him, so he ended up at the 400-acre, nonprofit refuge in Maryland.

I’m not sure if my sponsorship will help pay for Jason’s food, bedding and veterinary costs, but I’d sure like to meet him. I know I’ll see him the way Ty sees him.

Jason’s not protein. He’s an animal.