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    <title>Mrs. CPA</title>
    
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    <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:weblog-507360</id>
    <updated>2009-11-10T18:21:05-06:00</updated>
    <subtitle>Where the IRS and kids collide



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        <title>Pac-Man</title>
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        <link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.mrscpa.net/mrs_cpa/2009/11/pac-man.html" thr:count="3" thr:updated="2009-11-11T00:19:42-06:00" />
        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8347789ea69e201287577df57970c</id>
        <published>2009-11-10T18:21:05-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-11-10T18:21:31-06:00</updated>
        <summary>My New Nephew! Paxton Davis H. Born this morning at 6 lbs 15 oz and 19 inches long. Yea to JD and Jolie! (Anybody else ready for another one now?)</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Mrs. CPA</name>
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<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">My New Nephew! Paxton Davis H. Born this morning at 6 lbs 15 oz and 19 inches long.<a href="http://www.mrscpa.net/.a/6a00d8347789ea69e20120a66f6983970b-pi"><img alt="12636_1282487946708_1365364398_790470_2972199_n" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00d8347789ea69e20120a66f6983970b image-full " src="http://www.mrscpa.net/.a/6a00d8347789ea69e20120a66f6983970b-800wi" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="12636_1282487946708_1365364398_790470_2972199_n" /></a> <br /> <p><a href="http://www.mrscpa.net/.a/6a00d8347789ea69e201287570bfa9970c-pi"><img alt="12636_1282488786729_1365364398_790479_743155_n" border="0" class="asset asset-image at-xid-6a00d8347789ea69e201287570bfa9970c image-full " src="http://www.mrscpa.net/.a/6a00d8347789ea69e201287570bfa9970c-800wi" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="12636_1282488786729_1365364398_790479_743155_n" /></a></p><p>Yea to JD and Jolie!</p><p>(Anybody else ready for another one now?)</p></div>
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    <feedburner:origLink>http://www.mrscpa.net/mrs_cpa/2009/11/pac-man.html</feedburner:origLink></entry>
    <entry>
        <title>Guess where I am?</title>
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        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8347789ea69e20128756c3a88970c</id>
        <published>2009-11-09T17:21:04-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-11-09T17:21:04-06:00</updated>
        <summary>It's the Wal-marts! And Ree Dummond is here to sign cookbooks. I ran home, took a quick shower, and put on some of my husband's deodrant. It's a good thing I'm at Wal-Mart, so I can pick up some more.</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Mrs. CPA</name>
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<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>It's the Wal-marts! And Ree Dummond is here to sign cookbooks. <br />
I ran home, took a quick shower, and put on some of my husband's deodrant. It's a good thing I'm at Wal-Mart, so I can pick up some more.<br />
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    <entry>
        <title>Fifth Grade</title>
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        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8347789ea69e201287563c887970c</id>
        <published>2009-11-08T20:10:28-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-11-08T20:10:28-06:00</updated>
        <summary>One day our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Hankton, didn't show up. Ginger and I took roll and sent the lunch money and attendance to the office. This was in the days before cell phones, so when the office finally figured out...</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Mrs. CPA</name>
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<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>One day our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Hankton, didn't show up. Ginger and I took roll and sent the lunch money and attendance to the office. This was in the days before cell phones, so when the office finally figured out that she wasn't there, we were halfway through the class period. Ginger and I also set up our own little business of selling sequins and candy to all the kids in call until we got caught. The teacher loved asking us if we were good citizens. She even had a Halloween thing for the bulletin board that was ghosts asking us, "R U a good citizen?" </p><p>Some boy attacked me in class one day pushing me over a table and laying on me until I kicked him. </p><p>Mrs. Ross, the science teacher, showed us one of the Friday the 13th movies one day. My mom called the principal. Mrs. Ross was mad so I didn't get to go to the invitation only science camp that summer and dissect crayfish. </p><p>My math teacher, Mrs. Puryear, had some picked jeans that we were all jealous of. She also wore glasses that had broken arm and she put a paperclip in them. We didn't learn much math that year. I think we played Uno a lot. She had two desks close to hers and her favorites for the day got to sit up there and goof off. </p><p>I took a book home from my reading teacher and forgot to ever return it. I think I dropped it in the bathtub too. </p><p>This is the earliest I can remember getting so furious with someone that I couldn't form words. I don't remember what Ginger and I were fighting about but it had something to do with me sweeping and her messing it up. I wrote on the board an unhappy face and her name under it. (Scathing, I know. Cuts right to the heart.)</p><p>The big thing that year was to make up houses. We got pictures out of magazines of what we would look like and our husbands and children. They were 13 story house plans with swimming pools on the 10th floor. </p><p>Drew and I won the science fair that year. We had butterflies that we hatched (?) and we cracked fertilized chicken eggs into baby food jars to show their life cycle. I still have the ribbon. </p></div>
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        <title />
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        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8347789ea69e2012875620341970c</id>
        <published>2009-11-07T20:18:41-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-11-07T20:18:41-06:00</updated>
        <summary />
        <author>
            <name>Mrs. CPA</name>
        </author>
        
        
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    <feedburner:origLink>http://www.mrscpa.net/mrs_cpa/2009/11/my-entry.html</feedburner:origLink></entry>
    <entry>
        <title>We are at Nan's</title>
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        <id>tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d8347789ea69e20128755fb8ec970c</id>
        <published>2009-11-06T19:19:34-06:00</published>
        <updated>2009-11-06T19:19:34-06:00</updated>
        <summary>Having a block party. When I see a cotton picker going down Main Street, I know I'm home.</summary>
        <author>
            <name>Mrs. CPA</name>
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<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><p>Having a block party.</p>

<p>When I see a cotton picker going down Main Street, I know I'm home.<br />
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