When we get lost

Every time I drive my siblings around, they beg me to get lost. And given my nonexistent skills with a map, this is a pretty fortunate arrangement.

It all started last week when I dropped my mom off at the airport on Saturday morning. The two little girls were in the back, snug in their car seats, rather grumpy from waking up too early. Getting back to my parents' house from DFW is very easy. If you take the north exit, that is. The south exit will shoot you into a spinning maze of turnpikes and toll roads and overpasses. I took the south exit.

We drove around in circles for a while, the girls growing more and more restless. Even three- and five-year-olds can tell when they're being driven in circles. I stopped at an empty parking lot to let them run around while I looked at a map, but they were too cold. So we buckled in and hit the road again.

Then I had my brilliant idea. Getting lost with Courtney = Donuts! That way, instead of associating getting lost with frustrating car rides around Dallas, they'll think of donuts. Brilliant, I know.

Fortunately, donut shops are easy to find. We stopped at one, ate and relaxed, and then I called a friend who always gives understandable directions. "What happens when you get lost with me?" I asked the kids when we pulled into the parents' driveway 45 minutes later. "We get donuts!" the five-year-old shouted.

Since then, whenever I make a wrong turn, I hear a chorus of little voices asking, "Are we lost? Do we get donuts?"