First of all, shut the hell up. Second, have a plethora of seats. A stadium of seats. A myriad of seats. ALL the seats.

I’m not sure who is writing these trash articles, but guess who’s not reading them and have no damns to give about the content therein? The women these articles are supposed to “target.” These are women over 30, over 40, over 50 who have, it seems, suddenly become fair game for the heckling and “target practice” of aspiring fashion editors and bloggers. These are women who have survived decades of sexism, discrimination, and likely, a fair share of street harassment. These women are your mothers, grandmothers, aunts and friends, and they deserve to be able to make the simplest of morning choices (“Hmm…what should I wear today?”) without being subjected anyone else’s opinion on whether said selection is “appropriate” or not. Writers of such opinion pieces should get their target practice on issues that are more worthwhile and less invasive into the private lives of women; issues that could actually prove beneficial to society, such as: “Why do I care so much what someone else wears?” or “How can not giving my opinion about what others do make life easier for everyone involved?” because articles judging what’s age appropriate for a demographic that doesn’t give a shit what you think are a colossal waste of words and time.

The hours of fake research and time taken to disseminate unsolicited opinions on what women can and cannot put on their bodies only further demonstrate that society is FAR too comfortable in telling women what to do, how to think, how to act, how to…I could go on, but you get the drift. Women over 30, 40, or 50 are going to glance at the title, suck their teeth, and keep flipping the page or scrolling the mouse. And if by chance we DO peep at a paragraph or two, all we do is giggle and proceed with life as normal. That mini skirt you said I should trash? Actually, this article JUST reminded me that it’s in my closet, and there’s a banging party this weekend! Non matching socks are a no no? Well, come to my house and match socks for me and my entire crew, you judgmental footwear tyrant. There comes a certain point in a woman’s life when she wakes up and has absolutely no cares in this world about what someone else has to say about her fashion choices. Because grown. So, please. Just stop it. I wear what I want, when I want and how I want.

The title is not something I’m saying to my mom (though truer words from me could not be spoken), but rather, it reflects the look my son gave me as he exited the car for school this morning. Today is Fifth Grade Graduation Day. I could not be prouder of him.

B prepares to attend tonight’s ceremony having endured more than any child should have had to endure. He lost one of his parents before his kindergarten graduation. I attended that ceremony in a fog of grief and watched it through tears. We have moved a total of six times since then. He lost his grandfather and, more recently, his great grandmother who he adored. Both were from Jeannette’s side of the family, so he tears up a little when he talks about how everything about her is getting smaller: her family, his ability to remember details about how she looked and sounded… It breaks my heart. The helpless feeling of watching my child grieve so many times is one I have hated having to experience.

Still, we both walk into this ceremony stronger and more confident. He now has two parents who will be in attendance this time, who will be smiling and joyful. And though we prepare for a 7th move next week, it is to permanence and “happily ever after.” He is the strongest boy I know. He made it. We made it.

Ashe.