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March 4, 2013
I don't know how she does it, I thought, in my brother's kitchen, trying to find the 8 oz bottle. My mom had a note of authenticity in her voice--such a rare occurrence it got my attention. She was frustrated. The baby had started crying. My nephew got a hold of the powder and was running down the hallway with it, shaking it vehemently. I followed the trail into his room and behind the crib where I snatched it from him with an equal note of frustration. He cried. I had a headache later that only a book cured.