Fucking Costco

The Costco Run With Six Kids (Bulk Everything, Dignity Optional)

Taking six kids to Costco should count as a team-building exercise. Or a reality show. Honestly, I'd watch it.

Preparation is everything. I go in with a list — a LIST — and a firm rule: we are here for the essentials. Diapers. Snacks. The giant cheese. In and out.

The plan survives approximately ninety seconds.

First casualty: the cart situation. One cart is not enough for our haul, but two carts with six kids is a traffic hazard. We go with one oversized flatbed cart, and the kids treat it like a parade float. Someone is always riding. Someone is always falling off. I am always pretending I don't know them.

Then: the samples. Oh, the samples. My children transform into tiny, polite vultures, circling the sample stations with the focus of stock traders. “Mom, have you TRIED the—” Yes, baby. I've tried it. We're not buying the twelve-pack of artichoke dip.

The bulk buying is genuinely life-changing though. When you go through milk like we do, the two-pack isn't a luxury — it's infrastructure. The 36-pack of granola bars? That's not shopping, that's disaster preparedness.

But the real Costco magic is the checkout. The cashier sees my cart — towering, teetering, a Jenga tower of bulk goods — and six kids, and just says: “...big family?” Every time. EVERY time. And I smile and say “yep!” like it's the first time anyone's ever asked.

The dignity left the building somewhere around aisle seven. But the savings? The savings are real. And the giant teddy bear my toddler tried to smuggle into the cart? Also real. He's part of the family now.

Costco warriors: what's your most unhinged bulk purchase? Mine's the 5-pound bag of chocolate chips. For 'baking.' Sure.