Some family adventures begin with planning, spreadsheets, coordinated outfits, snacks arranged alphabetically in the diaper bag.
Ours began with chaos, caffeine, and a mutual understanding that the kids would probably scream no matter where we were — so why not scream scenic?
Frankenmuth, Michigan: land of chicken dinners, Christmas ornaments, and sidewalks that are absolutely hostile to anyone pushing a double-wide stroller. A magical place, truly.
Our mission was simple enough:
1. Leave the house.
2. Eat chicken.
3. Wander and survive.
Expectations? Low.
Spirits? High enough.
Coffee? Essential
Arrival: The Calm Before the Chicken
Our strategy — refined through experience and trial by fire — is to drive through town first, past The Bavarian Inn, past Zehnder’s, past all the people who had the forethought to make reservations. Then we park on the opposite side of town near the brewery, because we are seasoned Frankenmuth walkers now. We know things.
We rolled in with what we thought was our ace: the City Mini double-wide stroller. If you’ve never been to Frankenmuth, the sidewalks are approximately 2.5 people wide — and that’s before you factor in stairs into shops, decorative planters, and crowds of tourists who walk like they’re on a leisurely trust-fall exercise.
The stroller didn’t stand a chance.
So instead, we wore and carried twins like weighted front packs while our five-year-old walked beside us like a free-range chicken we kept mentally counting at all times.
Chicken Dinner: The Takeout That Saved Us All
Now — the chicken.
The inevitable Frankenmuth decision is Zehnder’s or Bavarian Inn?
Both require reservations.
Did we have reservations?
Absolutely not.
Two adults, three children, two of whom don’t really eat solids yet. A dining room was not our destiny. Chaos might be inevitable but it doesn’t have to be witnessed by 400 strangers eating drumsticks.
So we took the secret stairs to the Bavarian Inn takeout window — greeted by a lovely young woman who was also a twin (solidarity was felt). Twenty minutes and $45 later, we were victorious.
We found a little town-square patch near a candy shop: bench, Santa statue, trash can, open square for toddlers to wander — the holy trinity of parenting outdoors.
We ate standing like grazing bison, passing chicken strips and buttered noodles between keeping the boys from eating mulch and our daughter properly stocked in ranch. Truly the Midwest at its finest.
Baby B did face-plant and earned a forehead skid mark as a souvenir, but listen: his dignity remained mostly intact. We’ll count that as a win.
Bronners: Christmas Magic, Mild Panic, and Ornaments for Everyone
Fueled by carbs and hope, we ventured onward to Bronner’s Christmas Wonderland — because nothing says fall in Michigan like aggressively transitioning into holiday cheer.
The parking lot was still full, the store was still packed, but at least it wasn’t wall-to-wall humanity — shoulder-to-shoulder was an improvement. We grabbed ornaments for family, found new ones for the twins, waited in the personalization line, and endured a reasonable level of screaming from the boys. My husband only mildly panicked — a holiday miracle.
$100 later, we escaped — Christmas spirit achieved.
The Drive Home: Nothing Says Love Like Synchronized Baby Vomit
We planned our drive home to align perfectly with evening naps so we could transfer two peacefully sleeping babies directly to bed.
Instead, we left at 5:30.
The boys screamed for 90 minutes.
They screamed so hard they spit up (ie vomit for the layman) on themselves multiple times.
The van smelled… festive.
But hey — screaming means breathing. We take what we can get.
We rolled into home just in time for baths, late bedtime, and quiet house victory.
Final Score: Frankenmuth vs. Parents
Us: fed, caffeinated, ornamented, only slightly traumatized
Kids: mud-fed, ranch-fed, occasionally airborne
Baby B’s forehead: 1/10, but healing
Marriage: intact
Chicken: 10/10 would eat again
No photos, obviously.
We were too busy living it — and possibly blocking mulch from entering small mouths.
And honestly?
For a fall day in Michigan, that’s about as perfect as it gets