You Wanna Marry My Daughter?

Almost 13 years ago I gave birth to a pretty prime piece of livestock.

Before you start screaming "How can this woman call her daughter a COW? Where's the number for Child Services??" (I mean you mom-put down the phone), let me explain.

My Grandpa was a farmer (wow, did anyone else just have a Robert Redford in The Natural deja vu moments??)- a dairy farmer to be specific. I learned at a very young age to respect the cow. That 1/2 of ton of milking power was the difference between being fed and clothed and living on the street. Grandpa payed big time $$$$ for the best bred heifers, knowing the return on his investment would be worth every cent.

So back to my daughter. TQ is my prime heifer. I didn't have to pay much to "acquire" her (although at the time being really, really poor college students the $1500 we shelled to the good doctors and staff at the U of U Hospital seemed like $10,000), though some may consider the serious water retention and an epidural that didn't work as payment enough. But my TQ was definitely the pick of the litter (as verified by The King- she was undoubtedly the cutest baby in the nursery (I created it to my superior Latin genetics)). She's only gotten better with time. She's extremely smart, funny, sociable, kind and loving. Oh, and she's not too bad looking either.

As mother to such a prodigy, I should be on cloud nine. But the past few months our TQ has entered a stage that has her father and I wanting to switch to homeschooling and locking her in her room until college.

The giggly, on the phone for hours at a time, writing 1000 notes to friends a day, crying over boy drama, parents are stupid and overbearing stage.

In essence, Teenager Life.

Life sucks for the bystanders of the unfortunate wreck that the teenage existence.
The King and I have been relegated to the job of chauffeur and ATM. Fox and MC are nuisances and burdens. The world- nay, all 24 hours in the day- revolves around the ups and downs of Her life. As I sit here writing, I am waiting for the call to pick her up from her latest after-school, student government obligation- which I am so glad she's involved in, I just don't like the "it's more important than anything else than anyone else in the family has going on" attitude. Once she's home I guarantee she'll asking to go on Facebook within 5 minutes from crossing the doorway.

So are the days of our lives.

Over the last few days (specifically it began on Tuesday after she wore my new boots for the second time without asking then had the gall to call me out for taking some gum that was left on the counter) I've really been contemplating the wisdom in arranged marriage. As I can see it, there are overwhelming benefits of the institution. First, the issue of boy drama, of who likes who and who is "going out" with who, immediately becomes a non-issue. Dating- not going to happen. The teenage years will fly by in a drama-free bliss. Then, for the icing on the cake, I get to pick the perfect son-in-law. Here's an early draft of the ad I'm thinking of taking out:

"Mom looking for future son-in-law from a good family with a high credit score, college degree(s), and current temple recommend. Future mother-in-law promises to not be overbearing, controlling or obsessive, and pledges grandchildren babysitting services at least bi-monthly if not more. Future wife is beauty and perfection incarnate and guaranteed to go fast so don't sit idly by while you future slips through your fingers"

Is the perfection thing too much? I thought about saying "she's a solid 9", or "3.5 stars out of 4" but I didn't want to risk future mate over analyzing what her flaws may be. There's plenty of time to get to know all of those after he puts the ring on.

Well, there's the call- gotta go get her Highness. But I'm showing her- I'm making her cross the street in the fog and with gym clothes in hand, and walk 50 feet to meet me. Take that princess!


(okay, now everyone put down your phone. I'm not really selling off my daughter. She is wonderful and I love her until the end of time plus a couple of extra days. I just need a day off from being Mom. And by the way- it was actually 4 minutes from foot in door to Facebook IMing).