That's not a particiaption ribbon buddy, it's the real thing

Cleveland has a wonderful tradition, like so many Mississippi towns of hosting an arts festival in the Spring. Crosstie is held every April and is actually the first place that Jonathan ever met my Mom during my sophomore year at Delta State - this is very silly, but I remember exactly what I was wearing that day, a pair of capri’s and a black and white striped camisole with a white cardigan.

Each year they have an interactive kids arts area with easels they can paint on, drums they can play on and lots of other different stations where the kids can make instruments, masks and other crafts. It seams like it gets bigger and better every year. They also have face painting (yay, I say with a great deal of sarcasm, as the lines for face-painting are always long, and Holt always has what we will call a grieving period at bathtime, when the art must be removed). They also have a train (yay, I say with great sincerity as last year when I was pregnant and hot and tired, Holt’s 50 train rides were an answer to my prayers and this year he could ride while I played with Harper Ann in the grass) and a stage with different performances for the children.

The Confederate monuments that adorn courthouse lawns
across the South sure are fine places to climb

Playing in line waiting to get his face painted

She kept reaching in and running her fingers through the ice in my cup.
This kept her entertained for quite some time.

Spiderman

Harper Ann really liked the drums

Holt made Harper Ann some shakers at one of the craft tables

There is also a crosstie 5k every year that, if my memory serves me correctly, Catherine won in her age group when we were kids. I was already excited about crosstie, because it’s during Jonathan’s busy season and it would be something fun for us to do to get out of the house for the day. Well, I read in the paper that they were going to have a “fun run” in the morning for ages 3-10 and I thought Holt would enjoy it. I asked if he wanted to participate in a race and before the words were out of my mouth I realized the confusion that might set in. “In a car?” Holt asked in a very excited tone. “No, like a foot race” - look of confusion - “a running race.” Once I explained it to him he was very excited, so excited in fact, I was afraid he would be very disappointed by the brevity of the 40 yard dash. Well, the funrun sign-up began at 8:30; Holt was up at 6:45. The first thing out of his mouth that morning was, “is it my race day?” When I answered in the affirmative, he jumped up and requested his Alabama jersey. When I asked him why he wanted his jersey, he told me, in a very condescending tone that, “You have to wear numbers on your shirt when you run in a race.” How silly of me to ask. I got the kids dressed in their race apparel and we walked down to the courthouse lawn. We were the first people at the sign-up, and by first, I mean we beat the funrun organizers. They hadn’t even drawn the start and finish lines in chalk yet, but I was not going to let Holt miss his big race. We watched the 5k runners go past us and talked about Holt’s race. I was fully prepared, going into the morning, to tell Holt that he “won” even if he didn’t. Holt was grouped with the 3/4 year olds and since he just turned 4 and there were some bigger kids in the race I was concerned Holt would be upset if he didn’t come in first. I tried explaining that I wanted him to run hard but that it was ok if other kids finished before him. They called all the kids over to “stretch out” before the race, and Harper Ann and I went to the midway point in the “track” to watch and take pictures. When I was in highschool I ran track and cross country and I loved the feeling I got right when we were lining up to start, when you are relaxed and excited at the same time, and you can feel your heart beating in your throat. As Holt lined up with the other 15 kids I found that same sensation overtaking me. I took a picture and they were off. Now, the race took all of 15 seconds tops, but that was all the time that was required for me to turn into a crazy person. At first Holt was about five or six kids back in the race, then four, it was at this point that I took the last race photo, because as he came past me, I realized he was picking up speed and the other kids were slowing down. I am quite embarrassed by the 10 seconds of my life that followed because I left my infant sitting in a stroller and ran down the street, past other parents, yelling like a loon, “RUN HOLT RUN!!!” I shouted as I blew past 3 year olds at the back of the heat. By the time I got to the finish line the race was over and Holt was holding the blue ribbon and an ice cream sandwich, while all the other children were waiting for their green participant ribbons. I was out of breath and aware that people were staring, but I didn’t care (at the time I didn’t anyway). I hugged Holt and took his picture and told him how proud I was. It was at this point that I remembered I was a mother of two and we went to find Harper Ann. We called Jonathan and told him about his speed-demon and I told everyone I saw that day about the race, well, the Holt winning part anyway. When we got home late that afternoon Holt sat down on the love-seat while I put Harper Ann down for her nap. When I came back to the living-room he was fast asleep, his blue ribbon clutched in his hand. It was a wonderful day.

He's a regular Roger Bannister