I just asked where the eggs had gone and I was called tight-fisted: My daughter-in-law decided to buy a second fridge to keep her food separate.
There are moments in life when you dont know whether to laugh or cry. Yesterday, I found myself in one of those situationsmy hands are still shaking now. Id decided to bake a pieit had been ages since Id treated the family to something sweet. The weather was mild, I was in good spirits, and my granddaughter was playing in the next room. Everything was readyall I needed were the eggs. I opened the fridge door and they were gone. Id seen them there just a few hours earlier, set aside so no one would take them. But now? Nothing.
Naturally, I went to ask my daughter-in-law if shed moved them or used them. And thats when the storm broke. She flew off the handle: What? Youre begrudging your own granddaughter eggs? She had scrambled eggs this morning! I stood there, stunned. My heart ached. Before I could stop myself, I snapped back: Thats daft Yes, I said it. Harsh, maybe, but how else do you react when youre accused of being stingy over two eggs *you* bought?
Then came her retort: Fine! Ill buy my own fridge, and well each keep to our own food! Imagine thatunder the same roof, in the same flat, with separate fridges? Its not a family anymore; its a house-share. And all because I dared ask about missing eggs.
Im not a young woman anymore. I live modestly, no luxuries. This flat is all Ive gotI got it through sheer luck, really. I scrape by on my pension, watching every penny. I shop at markets for bargains, hunt for discounts. The younger ones say they dont have time for that. They work, theyre tiredI understand. My sons at the office from dawn till dusk, trying to keep his family afloat. No hope of them moving out yetrents are sky-high, mortgages out of reach. So the four of us squeeze into this two-bed: me, my son, his wife, and my granddaughter. I try not to intrude, not to be a bother. Truth be told, Im glad for the company.
But living together isnt just sharing a kitchen and a loo. Its respect. Its understanding that an old woman has her own needs, her own waysand yes, the right to bake a pie. And now, a row over two eggs. Its not the first timea frying pan left dirty, a borrowed saucepan, ingredients vanishing when Id planned to cook. I bite my tongue. But this time, I couldnt. Because its not about eggs, or fridges, or even pies.
Its about respect. About the hurt of spending your life caring, feeding, raisingonly to be called tight-fisted. Never mind that *I* took them in, never turned them away. I shared my home, made everything common, and we manage as best we can. And now? They want separate meals, separate lives, me kept at arms length.
I know were different generations. Theyve got their ways, Ive got mine. But family isnt about fridges. Or who ate what. Its respect, kindness, gratitude. I dont expect grovelling. But being called tight-fisted? That cuts deep.
Now I tell myself: I wont interfere. If they eat everything, so be it. If theres nothing left, Ill make do with toast. Eating together? Let them eat alone. But they should knowits not because Im petty or spiteful. Its their choice. They made it. And me? Ill remember. And Ill learn from it.
Life teaches you that respect is lost faster than its earnedbut a family shouldnt split over eggs. Or anything else.
