Oakes’ View:

As the cool kids would say, it sucks to be a mom at my age. And they would say it if they had to deal with a brain as old as mine.

A dozen times each day I forget why I am where I am, and why I’m doing what I’m doing. I’ve turned to chemicals for help; I’ve taken gingko biloba (one of the oldest trees on earth with a unique vein pattern to its leaves, which eventually forms a lovely, spreading canopy that switches almost overnight to brilliant lemon yellow in the fall), saw no effect.

Juvenon (developed by the Nobel Prize winning biochemist out of Berkeley, Dr. Bruce Ames, whose reputation within the sciences is so exalted that biologists and chemists say “If Bruce Ames made it, I’d swallow it!” even though his Nobel was awarded for something completely apart from brain aging) which I still take because it does seem to help.

Memo Prove, which is full of proprietary neuropeptides that, my internist says, “Makes sense ’cause you make less of these as you go on and they certainly can’t hurt you!” though she and I share the question of how these little goodies get past the chemical maelstrom of the gut.

And alpha lipoic acid, which my dermatologist said I should try. Later when I asked him if he saw any results he answered, “I’m not taking any of that stuff yet — you’re the guinea pig on that!”

Well we’ve been injecting using it on horses for years (along with the new darling of the rejuvenation marketers, hylauronic acid — we bought it as Legend and injected it into their sore knees and hocks and it works like magic.

So, yes I’ve left few stones unturned in my quest to keep up with my life as the decades have raced past. Though it is annoying-as-all-get-out that my husband doesn’t seem to suffer these ills. He’s kind (or is that condescending? Too close to tell really) about it, but I think a tad smug too. And the kids are merciless. But every once in a while I get a chance at some revenge.

Like today, when Connor called from school — “There was a reason I phoned you. A really important, good reason, but ” (YES!) he’d forgotten what it was.

Hallelujah! So of course I couldn’t resist pointing out how impatient he is with my memory and how I was going to savor this moment.

He laughed and told me to go ahead and wallow around in it — because I was going to forget the whole thing in about 12 seconds.

I know why some animals eat their own young.

LAUREN OAKES, a longtime resident of La Cañada, writes columns as the mood strikes. She can be reached at laurenoakes@charter.net.