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The birth of a child is a beautiful thing.

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In southeast Michigan, there is a restaurant called Cloverleaf Pizza. Growing up, I'd ride my bike with a friend to the 'Leaf and split an eight-slice cheese and pepperoni pizza. In fact, I liked the pizza so much that I eventually got a job there as a bus boy – in part because employees got 50 percent off their dinner order. But as much as I love Cloverleaf, the 25 mile trek from my current residence limits me to about three trips a year.

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