Operation “Priorities” Was in Full Effect

Monday morning, I woke up **extra early.** Before Jordan even rolled over, I was in the kitchen, **packing his lunch.**

Normally, I’d make him a hearty sandwich, snacks, and—ironically—**a boiled egg** (when we had them). Not today.

Today, he was getting a **very special meal.**

When he groggily walked into the kitchen, stretching, I handed him his lunchbox with the **sweetest smile.**

“Here you go, honey! Packed with love!”

He blinked at me, **suspicious.** “Uh… thanks?”

He kissed my cheek, grabbed his stuff, and left.

Fast forward to **lunchtime.**

My phone **exploded** with messages.

**Jordan:** “Julia. What the hell is this?”
**Jordan:** “Are you serious right now??”
**Jordan:** “CALL ME.”

I didn’t.

Instead, I sent him a single reply:

**”Oh, sweetheart! I just made sure you had plenty! Just like you did for your mom!”**

You see, inside his lunchbox wasn’t a sandwich. **No snacks. No sides.**

Just **a single, raw egg.**

No spoon. No salt. No explanation.

Just one **lonely egg.**

For the rest of the day? Silence.

Then, **he came home.**

He **stomped into the kitchen, fuming.** “Are you insane?! I had to eat vending machine junk all day!”

I tilted my head, all innocent. “Oh no! But I thought you didn’t mind **going without eggs?** Since, you know, **they’re too expensive for us?**”

His jaw **clenched.** “That’s different.”

“How?” I folded my arms. “Because it was **your stomach, not your kids’?**”

Silence.

I leaned in. “I don’t mind budgeting, Jordan. I don’t even mind sacrifices. But you’ll **never** convince me that eggs are a ‘luxury’ for our babies while you spoil your mother like a queen.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I… I didn’t think about it like that.”

“No, you didn’t.” I softened just a little. “So. You’re either **in this family**—fully—or you can keep eating vending machine food while we thrive. Your call.”

The next day?

Jordan came home with **three dozen eggs**—for our kids.

His mother could **buy her own.**