Never thought I’d be ranting about eggs, but here we are.
Egg prices are insane, but for us, they’re a necessary food source. We have two toddlers who actually need them.
So last Monday, I asked my husband, Jordan, to grab some eggs on his way home. His response?
“Julia, have you seen the prices? The kids don’t need them that bad. We should cut back on groceries.”
I was livid, but fine. I picked up eggs myself.
Then, on Saturday, we visited his mom, Carolyn. I packed food for the kids — because she’s not exactly the cooking grandma type.
When I opened her fridge to store their meals, my jaw hit the floor.
It was FULLY stocked with eggs. Dozens of them!!!
“Wow, Carolyn!” I said, still processing. “Where’d you find so many?”
She beamed. “Oh, Jordan bought them for me! Such a sweetheart, he made sure I had plenty!”
…Excuse me?!
The same man who said eggs were “TOO EXPENSIVE” for his own children?!
I didn’t explode. I smiled. I even praised him.
But the entire ride home? I plotted.
And by Monday morning? Operation “Priorities” was in full effect.
I didn’t say anything directly at first. I wanted to observe. Sometimes silence tells you more than confrontation.
So, Monday night, I watched Jordan scrolling through his phone after dinner.
“Babe,” I said sweetly, “The kids really enjoyed their eggs this morning. It was the first time Theo didn’t throw his breakfast across the room.”
He didn’t even look up. “Glad they liked them.”
I sipped my tea, pretending everything was normal. “By the way, Carolyn told me you bought her four dozen eggs. That’s so generous of you.”
That made him pause.
He blinked at me, half-guilty, half-confused, like a deer caught jaywalking.
“I mean,” I continued, smiling like a Stepford wife, “if we’re cutting groceries for the house, I just figured maybe you were cutting back on… everyone’s eggs?”
Jordan cleared his throat. “Well, Mom’s been feeling low energy, you know? Protein helps. And she’s been saying how the prices at her local store were crazy.”
“She doesn’t have two toddlers running marathons around her,” I said quietly.
He shifted in his seat.
That’s when I dropped the act.
“I’m not mad you bought her eggs. I’m mad you said we couldn’t afford them for our kids. That’s the difference.”
He muttered something about me “blowing it out of proportion” and went to bed early.
But I knew then—I wasn’t just dealing with a one-time slip-up.
This was about values.
Phase Two of Operation Priorities? Transparency.
I stopped covering for him.
If he didn’t want to contribute to groceries, fine. But then he’d know exactly what was missing.
So I made a list. A running list of things the kids needed — milk, fruit, eggs, diapers. Every time I went shopping, I texted him the receipts.
“Just an FYI, $6.49 for a dozen eggs today. Got them because Mila has a school thing tomorrow and needs protein.”
Next day: “Milk was $5.25. Theo drinks a cup before bed now.”
No guilt. No accusation. Just facts.
After a week of receipts and passive receipts (pun intended), he stopped brushing it off. The texts started to bother him.
“Why do you keep sending me this stuff?”
“Just so you know where the money’s going. Since groceries seem like such a shock lately.”
And then I hit him with the big one.
“I actually canceled my hair appointment next month. Figured we need the extra money for the kids’ food.”
Now that got his attention.
The Twist?
It turns out, the egg situation was only part of it.
A week later, I got a call from his sister, Leah. We’re close, and she’s not the kind to gossip, so when she said, “Hey, can I ask something without it getting weird?” I braced myself.
Apparently, Carolyn had mentioned in passing how “tight” we were financially and how Jordan was “supporting the household all on his own.”
I almost dropped the phone.
We both work. I’m part-time, but I manage the kids, the house, and everything in between. And now I found out Jordan’s been playing martyr while painting me as… what? A freeloader?
It hit me then — this wasn’t about eggs. It wasn’t even about money.
It was about control.
He got praised for “sacrificing.” He got to be the golden son who provided. Meanwhile, I was quietly scraping together kid meals and canceling my self-care just to keep the house afloat.
I told Leah the truth. Not angrily. Just clearly. And to her credit, she listened.
“I figured something was off,” she admitted. “You always seem like you’re juggling ten things at once.”
Confrontation Day
After the kids went to sleep that night, I asked him to sit down.
Not to fight.
To talk.
I laid it all out — the receipts, the conversations, even what Leah told me. I wasn’t accusatory. I just painted the picture as I saw it.
He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t defend himself right away.
When I finished, he sat in silence for a good minute.
Then he said quietly, “I guess I liked being the hero. Buying stuff for Mom made me feel like I was doing something… good. I didn’t realize how much I was neglecting you and the kids in the process.”
And for once, it felt like he actually heard me.
What Changed?
We made a joint grocery fund. He puts in half. I do, too. But now he sees what goes into feeding the house.
We started a weekly “budget talk.” Nothing formal, just a Sunday coffee sit-down. What’s coming up? Who needs what?
He called his mom and corrected the narrative. Told her we’re both working hard and that I carry the house more than she realized.
He bought the eggs next time. No complaints. No drama.
The Lesson?
It’s never just about the eggs.
It’s about who feels seen. Who feels heard. Who carries the invisible weight in a relationship.
Communication doesn’t have to be dramatic. But it has to be honest. And accountability? It’s not about blame — it’s about growth.
Sometimes the small things — like eggs — tell the biggest story.
So if you’ve ever felt invisible, or unappreciated, or like your work at home doesn’t count? I see you. You’re not overreacting.
And maybe this story will remind someone that priorities do matter — and sometimes, they need adjusting.
If this resonated, share it. You never know who might need to hear it. ❤️🥚 #EggsAndEmpathy #RealTalk