Lovely, lovely, love my family.

Yup, that song /is/ from Yo Gabba Gabba. However, it's by The Roots so that cancels out the corniness, right? @wakeupfarah @nifty-nikki @withacherryontop
Warning: this is crap.
 
Day 3: Parental unit
 
My parents are the only ounce of proof that I have that love does in fact exist, because, if it does not exist, I haven’t the faintest clue as to why my dad continues to put up with my mother—especially when you consider how long they have been together.
 
My parents met when they were in college. My father, Hector, was a junior [21] who was pre-med and my mother, Rachel [19], was a freshman majoring in nursing. They had few things in common and fought constantly, however over the span of a year, they somehow began to like each other. After that year of bickering, like then turned to love. Six months later, love turned into marriage. Around 11 months after that, marriage turned into me. A joyous four years later, boredom turned into my sister, Jordan. It all happened pretty quickly honestly, and the only answer I have ever received when I asked for them to explain the rush: Love. It’s an answer I’ve always taken to heart, because no other explanation has ever made sense. My parents are not the impetuous type. They think things out. They plan things. They never rush to do a damn thing. So if they say love rushed them, I have to believe it.
 
My mother, Rachel, is quite the enigma. She can be warm and generous, mere seconds before she cuts you down with a single look. She can be controlling and judgmental, but she can also give the best pep talks you will ever receive. My dad says it is tough love. Growing up, I just figured she was bipolar. She’s a great cook; I always thought she would have been great chef. Instead, she was a nurse. However, as my sister and I got older and wilder, she stopped working and became a stay-at-home mom. She seemed content with that most of the time, but now that my sister and I are older and have left the nest, she seems a bit restless.
 
Hector, my dad, is probably the person I relate most to in the world. He’s a big cuddly ball of fun. He’s always down for anything and never complains, and with a person as random as me around, those are good qualities to have. He’s a surgeon, and as such has learned to thrive under pressure. I think that’s how he managed to remain sane during my teen years and my constant fights with my mother. Being our peacekeeper was no easy task, but somehow he did it without killing us, so kudos to him!
 
Whereas my mother and I have always had a very tumultuous relationship, my father and I have always clicked. What can I say? I’m a daddy’s girl. Jordan’s the one that gets along great with my mother. I assume it’s because they’re both insane.