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"I don't know if he even knows how to get in touch with her anymore." "Julianne!" shouts the five-year-old Lindsay, whom I dared not pay attention to for 45 seconds. "You're richard cheney not looking at my room!" "I am looking; it's beautiful, honey. I love your pretty bedspread." "But you didn't see my treasures." I walk over to the dresser she is standing next to and peer into her jewelry box. "Wow, look at all richard cheney your sparkly things. Did mommy give you this ring?" "Those aren't my treasures . richard cheney . . These are the treasures!" She holds out a cardboard box full of earth-covered rocks. "Well, I know what you're getting for Christmas this year, Lindsay," Greg chimes in. "It's coming straight outta the backyard." The man of the house, my brother-in-law Lee, is shouting things like "Bird's good and dead!" and "Hey, Bird, didn't you play for the Celtics?" which inevitable turns into "He shoots, He SCORES!"
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