The Crack Facktor

So seventy is the new fifty is the new thirty is the new embryo. Heels and Hose have been replaced with skinny jeans and Uggs for casual mom fashion, and for the most part I say Hallelu-JAH.

I like feeling campus-chic when I smack my forehead going through the tube slide--no fear of mussing my skirts or running my stockings. While little plastic eggs are fun, I prefer to let little Christian children search for them on Easter, rather than pry one open every morning for my Leggs.

But the biggest trend in mom fashion for our generation is also an inadvertent one…

The Crack Facktor.

Our butts are falling out all over the place. Big or little, light or dark, we are falling all over ourselves--even while we attempt playground-appropriate. Sure, we nipped that panty line catastrophe in the butt, but now we are plumbing ourselves all over the parkbench.

Half-water Juice Box? Check. Whole Grain Goldfish? Check? Double buttcheeks? Err… Check.

After showing a different side of ourselves to Grandpa during that ill-fated round of horseshoe toss “I’ll get those, Grandpa! Got ‘em! WHOOPSIE DAISEY” most of us learned the lesson of the low-rise. You try to compromise, but even the midrise and a long tank top fail on occasion--like every time I wrestle with a snow boot or bend to retrieve an errant mitten.

Pardon me, but did you hear that? The collective GASP of our ancestral matriarchs?

Yep, they're a-spinnin' round and round. Don't you hear their cry?

WHERE ARE THE GRANNY PANTS
WHERE ARE THE MOM JEANS
COVER UP YOUR TRAMP STAMP
KEEP BUTTS UNSEEN! (Repeat and alternate with KEEP YOUNG MINDS CLEAN)

How long will we keep this up?

I'm imagining the inevitable remake of “Golden Girls” called “Molded Girls." References to "flab" or "sag" will need to be written out. Instead of silk bathrobes and turbans, the new cast will sport “GILF” shirts and yoga pants.

And my how we will miss the granny pant...