Are We There Yet?
Mom is growing older, but not any wiser
LORI CLINCH
When my eldest child was very small, he thought I was the smartest woman in the world.

That cute little guy always assumed that his mother knew more than his teachers, could tally quicker than the Count on "Sesame Street," and never once did he suspect that I was making stuff up.

Alas, those were the days. He'd ask his little questions and his mommy would answer. He thought his mother knew all about the alphabet, dinosaurs and had a full understanding of two plus two.

What I didn't know, I would fake, and he'd be none the wiser. He'd simply walk off feeling satisfied that the world was right. Often he'd bring a friend by so that he, too, could bask in the rays of my brilliance.

When the story problems came 'round, I totally knew what speed that Tommy Bullwhip would need to go if he wanted to get to Boise in two hours. I was wise beyond my years.

According to my little guy, that is.

I suspect that Vernon started doubting my brilliance about the same time that I started losing my mind. He must have become suspicious when I walked into a room and had no memory of why I had come. I'm sure he worried when I dialed a number and couldn't remember who it was that I was calling, and it must have come full circle for him when I misplaced the baby.

It wasn't long before Vernon learned that his mother may not be the end-all and be-all in the world of knowledge. I guess he must have realized that the really smart people in the world don't address their fourth child as "little what's his face."

About the same time that Vernon discovered that his mother was one brick short of a load, Vernon found a new connoisseur to sit atop the peak of his mountain of questions - a new friend that he simply called "Oaks."

"Oaks is brilliant," Vernon would say when he spoke of his clever buddy. "Oaks aced his test. Oaks got an 'A' in calculus, and did you know that Oaks wrote a thesis on Newton's theory of gravitational pull? Oaks knows about amoebas, Poly- Grams, and can really wrap his mind around Einstein's theory of relativity."

Well, jolly good for Oaks.

Not only did my child no longer seek my wisdom, he began to say, "Oaks says this and Oaks says that. Oaks knows about carburetors, pinochle, and, hey Mom! If you want to triple that cookie recipe, Oaks would be your guy. He knows what 5/8s x 3 is and he doesn't even have to look it up!"

If what my child says is true, Oaks is better than Google.

While I was standing in a corner humming, Oaks was off cracking mathematical codes. While I once got lost in a maze for two hours, Oaks found his way out in less than 10 seconds.

About the time that I told Vernon that the metric system was a weight-loss clinic on the east side of town, he shifted all of his questions and inquiries to Oaks and placed him at the top of his mountain of wisdom.

"Oaks might be smart," I said last week in my defense, "but he lacks the life experiences to make him a wise man."

"Oh, Oaks is so smart that he doesn't even need the experiences to make him experienced." "Well," I said, barely able to mask my jealousy, "I can just imagine the look on the face of the poor soul who climbs to the top of the mountain, seeking advice, and sees a 19-year-old kid."

It's tough on a mother such as me. While my pool of judiciousness was once more than enough to get my child through the tough times, my knowledge has been cast aside. Meanwhile, my child tries to comfort me with the fact that "Oaks says it's normal for people to lose their brain power. Oaks says that memory loss is a sign of aging, and Oaks says that it's only a matter of time before you have to write yourself a note to remind you why you're in the bathroom."

I've decided to stock up on memorystimulating products, and perhaps I'll even consume a few cerebral tonics. I'll take some B12, B6 and perhaps toss in a little Saint-John's-wort for good measure. If what I've read up on these products is true, my brain power should be up and running by the year's end.

It may be hard to know if I'm taking the right stuff, however. Just to be sure that I'm on the right track, I'd better ask Oaks.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.