I’m a spoiled brat and I love it. My mother and I (and my brother) have an on-going battle. A battle over butter tarts. You see, my mom went off and moved away and took her Christmas butter tarts with her. I was crushed. But after a few years of begging, Mom started sending butter tarts (and shortbread cookies) on the bus down to me and my brother. Along with our Christmas presents, of course.

She hates doing it. She thinks the work of making every tart and cutting out every cookie isn’t worth it. She thinks I should do it myself. Every year she tells me “This is the last year you’re getting them.” And at some point leading up to Christmas she’ll toss it in again: “Remember, I said last year was the last time….”.

But you see, she sent the treats down a number of years in a row; building and cementing a precedent. The past couple years (three, maybe) the battle is getting tougher and tougher to fight. She’s relentless. She’s started mentioning it earlier and earlier in the year. This year, she has started in on me in January! It’s become a year-long epic battle.

As part of my mom’s compromise she said she was going to bring the recipes down so that I could make my own treats. Recipes. What the hell am I going to do with those?!

But it’s Thanksgiving and Mom’s down. She brought homemade cabbage rolls and perogies for dinner tonight (another delicious precedent my mother has set) and left the recipes at home. I’m gettin’ my treats in the mail this Christmas. Oh yeah!

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