It’s taken me nearly 28 years, but I think I’ve finally come to the conclusion that my mother is a junk food pusher. It seems that every time I decide to start watching what I eat and getting back into shape, cookies start to appear throughout the house. Tiny, nearly circular little demons with their chocolate chunks calling out to me – “Eat us! Dunk us in milk. You know you want to.” And that’s the problem with living at home – mother unconsciously sabotages my every move. Who am I kidding, though? In our community – the Hispanic community – that’s what mother’s are for. Saboteurs. Like Spy vs. Spy, my mother and I are constantly at odds. When she first became diabetic, I…