I'm luvin it!

As as soon as we cleared security, Hamza started the interrogation. Where was McDonalds? I immediately regretted the promise. What was bothering me most was I don't normally let them eat McDonald's.. with the exception of an occasional summer cone or sundae. I had been on a "real food only" commitment and had our places to eat out (which was not all that often) narrowed down to Chipotle, Panera Bread and Chick-Fil-A. But our travel life I find, has completely different rules than our non-travel life. It's like entering another dimension where the airports are the portholes and rules bend and twist.. lines blur, money takes on a different value, and what seems insane becomes perfectly normal like riding walkalators when you could just walk, and roaming up and down long corridors on a hunt for spongy fake chicken burgers. One begins looking forward to bland in-flight meal options and the dazzling array of over priced quirky travel paraphernalia and other "necessities" offered in the SkyMall catalog.

We rode the walkalator all the way to the end, and back again before I found the "You Are Here" map that I'd somehow past which was right near our gate. In case anyone's wondering, the McDonalds in terminal 8 at JFK does NOT have a dollar menu.. which by this time I was really counting on. I explained in my calmest "mommy-in-public" voice what we would be ordering. There was a brief protest, which was squashed by the need to order fast, as it was our turn in line. In the midst of it all, and between (what seemed at the time) the stupid look on the face of girl taking our order.. (which changed twice.. our order that is-not her face) and the stares burning a hole (I swear it) in the side of my head from the (what seemed at the time) jerk in a suit waiting on his order and the indecision from the boys as to which happy meal toy to choose and the impatient request now coming from Ayah to nurse; as she hung just under my chin in her carrier, I could feel the annoyed rage rising to the surface when... my phone began to ring. It was my dad calling from mom's phone. I looked for a clean table as he explained mom was out and had left her phone as usual. He'd seen my missed call and wanted to check on me. I decided I would just pretend he was mom and I told him about the ticket ordeal, but for some reason all he kept wanting to make sure of was that we were near the gate. He kept insisting that I stay near the gate so that I would not miss the flight. Of allllllllll the flights I've taken, how could he think I was capable of such a rookie move like THAT! And that was it. That was enough to make me explode. As much as I wanted to keep it together, I couldn't. I won't go into details here, but of course understanding what stress I must be under, all he said in the end (in his cheerful- don't-worry-be-happy phone voice) was "ok honey, I'll put some money in the bank for you.. call us when you get there!"

Taking long flights with small children is a form of torture somewhere in the world, I'm sure of it..

The next flight was the longest, and the one I had been dreading. But everyone had done so well the first flight that I was feeling pretty optimistic and I should have known better than to do that to myself. We were stuck in the center isle seats which I thought would be all for us till the sixth seater showed up. Not having the extra seat meant I would have to hold Ayah the entire flight. The kids were only good for 5 minute intervals with her which I needed to reserve for restroom breaks. 

I had anticipated the plane to be cool as they usually are, but this flight was operated by the Royal Jordanian crew and that meant that everything from the cabin temperature to the beverages to the food would be tepid at best... It's a Middle East Thing, you WON'T understand. This also meant the fleece jammies with the feet in were way to warm. I had to change her or she'd never sleep. 

It was a 11 hour flight roughly and to my delight she slept shortly after take off and didn't wake up till about an hour before landing. So that was good. What was not so good was that Hamza was stretched across us all and was trying to sleep as if he was in his bed, which meant turning and talking in his sleep and kicking the sixth seater on occasion. I tried best I could to control his flailings but holding Ayah meant I only had one good arm. At one point between flashes of sleep, I managed to pass her off to visit the WC and regain the blood circulation in my arms. As I approached the stalls, my eye caught sight of something protruding from the wall on just the other side of the restrooms. As I turned to look, I couldn't believe what I was seeing! Whaaat! What was this!!?! Little pod-like bassinets where hooked onto the walls with little bundles tucked into them fast asleep, while just opposite, mothers lay snoring-legs outstretched-arms freely tucked under heads. I couldn't believe it! WTH! Was I dreaming this up? This wasn't even first class. Who was the genius behind this operation, and more importantly why weren't Ayah and I included!?!.. But I already knew why, as I sleepily made my way to my cramped seat.

Update! & Eid Mubarak!!

Eid Mubarak to all my fellow Muslims! I have been severely MIA, I know, but rest assured, it was for many many a good reason. Mom has been with us on our journies which has been SUCH a wonderful blessing. She's back Stateside for a few months, as my other siblings high jacked her (just kidding😆). I must learn better how to share.. Anyhow, she'll be back to visit soon with dad inshallah.

Soooo much has happened in these past   four months, I know I have much work ahead of me to catch you all up. We've not even arrived in Egypt yet in my narrative of our trip back. You can imagine I've much to tell as, of course, we arrived just in time for The Revolution part 2! Talk about bad timing!.. but!.. believe it or not.. in true egypsie fashion... we are now.. TRI-continental. 😆 

Stay tuned.

Q's

I hate it when that happens. I hate it when my phone thinks it knows better than me what I want to say. Whomever invented auto correct was probably as severely type A as I was.. As I am.. Is probably...

After we got to JFK and after I tweeted my Josh sighting; I was so busy obsessing over my auto correct typo that I made a mistake in counting my change from the tip I gave the skycap and instead of five dollars, he got a $15 tip. I didn't realize it though until we settled down and I recounted. Naturally I panicked. I had Ahmed stay with our luggage while I took Hamza to track him down. Luckily he wasn't far. I told him that he had given me the correct change and I had mistakenly given him back ten extra dollars. Without hesitation he reached into his pocket and pulled out a giant wad of money and asked if I wanted fifteen back. I said no, just the ten. As I walked away I thought of how I should have taken the $15. Clearly he knew I had given him $10 extra by mistake and was happy to take it.. I let it slide. He had been nice enough to unload our luggage at the front of what would be the line to the ticket counter once the Royal Jordanian attendants got there. Which I liked, 'cause the only thing I love more than a proper cue is being at the front of one. Hamza kept asking me questions about what had just happened and I couldn't focus on a good answer because I kept thinking about how the mix up might be some kind of foreshadowing for something else.

We had at least 3 hours till check-in would start, and about 4 till we boarded our flight to Jordan. I told the boys that we would eat once we went through security, and about 30 questions from Hamza followed. Could we eat here? Could we eat there? Could we eat this or that there? How much time till we ate? How much time was that? What should he count to? Why couldn't we eat now? Where were the restaurants? Why couldn't he see the restaurants? Etc.. I told them we would get drinks until it was time to check in. I inquired about drinks which were downstairs. Ahmed spotted two abandoned luggage trolleys which meant $10 extra. Solid! We loaded up and I hated leaving our spot but nothing would be worse than being in the line with thirsty nagging children. Two pops and a large bottle of water cost me $15; but let's be strait, when your traveling money somehow takes on a different value and you end up paying more for things you wouldn't normally and for some reason it doesn't bother you. And I never buy pop for the kids at home, but somehow it was ok. And Hamza had negotiated Mc Donald's into his future, which we also usually never go eat.. at least not in The States. Egypt Mc Donald's is another story.

When we got back upstairs there was only one other guy in the area, but he had all his luggage lined up on the wall and not in the line which made me really happy. Obviously he had not thought to get in the line. We went back to our spot and camped out on the floor. I spread out Ayah's blanket which she didn't stay on and put toys out for her which she ignored and fired up a movie on Netflix for the boys. About forty minutes later, another woman showed up. A skycap was also helping her and they were in deep conversation. He put her bags on the scale one at a time while they talked. Then he walked her carry-on over to a sign that sat in the middle of the floor, which divided one airline checking area from the other. At the bottom of the medal frame was box into which he tried to shove her clearly oversized duffle bag. It wouldn't fit. They talked some more, then she disappeared for a while.

By the time the ticketing crew started to show up, the line was pretty full. We had packed up our little camp and the carts were ready to go. I put Ahmed in charge of one and I had the other. By this time the boy's had a full on sugar high from the pop and fruit snacks I'd packed. I kept having to tell Ahmed to get his cart which instead of manning he had left to the slide while he spared with his brother. I was busy telling them to stop when a man walked up and proceeded to stand in what was a place off to the side of me which was both disturbing and alarming. Disturbing because this guy was obviously in a spot that had no particular purpose. Why was he there? Alarming because the position he had taken eerily resembled that of a person who wanted to cut in front of me in line. My line! He was obviously Obviously standing there to see if he could get away with it. Having lived in the Middle East, I knew alllll too well how to handle this. But I never ever thought I'd have to deal with it here! This might as well have been New York, Egypt. So, as Ioud as I could without sounding crazy, I said: "Excuse Me! Are you looking for the line?" He looked, then said, "Oh no, it's ok. They are going to open alllll these lines up." To which I said: "Yes I know, and then I'll be first followed by this gentlemen and then her, and so on." He walked away. The girl who was one person behind me who looked to be of Arab descent said "Good! Don't let him cut you. I hate when men do that." I wanted to say I hated when women did it too, but I didn't. I smiled and we made small talk. She was traveling on business. I recognized her as the woman with the oversized carry-on. She talked about how she traveled to Amman a lot on business. She kept making reference to all the pushy and overbearing men she had to encounter as an occupational hazard. I thought it was extremely cliche and extremely annoying.

When the lines finally opened and I went to check in, one of my fears for this trip was realized. Ayah, (whom I was told by three different Cheapoair service representatives over the phone could be added to my ticket at check in for 10% of my ticket price) could only be added at 10% of the current valued ticket price. Was she kidding? I'd purchased my tickets six weeks ago at a crazy low price, who knew what a ticket today would run me? Then I found out exactly how much, which was not in the budget. I defaulted to du'ah. Hamza kept asking what was happening. Could we still go? What if we can't get Ayah a ticket? Would we have to live in NewYork? and 10 more worrisome questions like that. I reassured him that there is always a solution. I called mom, but hung up when I realized it was Sunday and banks were closed. I'd like to think I used my gypsy skills to negotiate a price I could afford, but in the end it was just Allah accepting my duah, and the Royal Jordanian ticket women accepting what I was able to give her. We checked our bags and made our way through security, tickets in hand.

Stars Truck-Star Struck

Mom was upset because when she asked the AirTran checkin guy if she could go to the gate to help me with the kids, I answered before he could reject her. "I wish you wouldn't do that! I told you I wanted to go back with you." Technically that was not true. She did mention in the car on the way that she wondered if she could go with us to the gate, the way she had with Nafisa my niece a month earlier. I told her that she was probably allowed because Nafisa was a minor. I apologized and explained how I didn't want to get too emotional. It was better to say our goodbyes and not drag it out. Which was half true. I really didn't think he would let her and Reddah come to the gate and I didn't want a battle. Mom, if nothing else, was a fighter. We sat in some chairs outside the security entrance while I fed Ayah. She was ready for her nap but I hoped she'd wait till we got on the plane. We made small talk about the plan once we got to New York, which reminded me I needed change for the luggage trolly. I was worried about how Hamza would react to the plane, then I remembered I wanted to give them gum to help with the pressure change. I bought some gum and got my change. Reddah helped me put all our liquids into baggies that sat on a nearby table. We gave our hugs and two sad little faces watched us as we entered and wound round the zig zagged belts that routed the line up to the security check.

I had briefed the boys on the ballet that is the security check the night before our leaving. It wasnt like this was their first time traveling but it had been a while and I want to be sure we'd move through as efficiently as possible. It was supposed to go like this: Boys take off shoes, place shoes in bin, take off back packs, place back packs on conveyer belt; I take Ayah out of her carrier, Ahmed holds Ayah, I place my shoes in the bin and carryon on the belt, I take Ayah, we walk through the metal detector one at a time. But when we got there the guard informed us that children under twelve didn't need to remove their shoes. So, instead of the boys going onto the next step, this is how it went: Boys stood around looking, I called Ahmed's name, I called hamza's name, told the boys to put bags on conveyer belt, called hamza's name again, told hamza to take off his backpack, picked up hamza's back pack off the ground for him, put it on the belt, put my carryon on the belt, called Ahmed, called Ahmed again, reminded him I need him to hold Ayah, took Ayah out of carrier-gave her to Ahmed, took off carrier and placed it on belt, watched Ahmed and Hamza stand around like they were half sleep, held Ayah as kids walked through metal detector, backed up- let Ahmed walk through again-this time not touching the sides, forgot to take off metal bracelet, began to sweat profusely, placed bracelet in bowl, walk through again, forgot to pack contact solution in checked luggage-get called aside for thorough bag check, told Hamza twice to get his bag, told Ahmed to get the rest of my stuff, had Ahmed hold Ayah, put on carrier, put Ayah back in carrier. Once I'd had all our things, and my wits I told them we would be doing that exact thing at least two more times and they needed to be quicker at it.

Once we were on the plane and in the air, Hamza was fine. I thought he might have an anxiety attack or something like that but he was more interested in Ayah meeting the baby of similar age who was seated in the row diagonal from us with his father. They were clearly New Yorkers. They had two other boys who sat in front of us with the mother who kept saying "that's disgusting" "Look Liam, look at your hands. That's disgusting!" "No, no.. Don't do that.. Are you kidding me? That's disgusting!" "Look honey, look what he's doing. Isn't that disgusting!? That's disgusting isn't it? Tell him that's disgusting!" It made me recall a SNL skit and I figured it was a NY thing to use that word so liberally. The oldest boy wore a yamaka that looked like a basketball that the flight attendant commented on, then he oo'ed and ahh'ed at Ayah and made small talk as he passed out our drinks.

When we landed at LaGuardia and deplaned, Hamza asked me why the flight attendant had been so nice to us. I told him that was his job and he said it seemed liked he liked me or something. I told him that he was just a friendly happy person. It was obvious to me he preferred the other team, but walking through the airport was not the time or place to have a conversation about sexuality.. Or was it? Just as we'd finished that conversation I saw Joshua McKinley from project runway's season 9 and I totally freak out. He was walking towards us and when our eyes met, I go.. 'Hey! Oh! oh my God, I know you.' And he nodded and smiled and said "Hey, hi, how are you?" I was really excited and truly star struck.. which I couldn't believe. So I kept saying wow, I cant believe we saw him, to which my boys kept saying who? Who? Who did we see? I told them I'd explain later. I got our luggage and arranged for the shuttle to JFK which cost $13 freaked dollars a seat! (see gypsy money post). As we sat outside waiting for the shuttle bus, I said 'Man! I should have asked for a picture.. I can't believe I didn't ask for one!' Hamza got upset. "Really mom! really?! Your so excited about some guy who sews? and anyway I don't think Baba would like it if you took a picture with some strange man." Spoken like a true little Gypsy man, and of course he was right. It wasn't THAT kind of a pic, but again, I didn't feel like having that kind of talk. This trip was heavy enough as it were. I had given them both a very basic, age appropriate explanation of homosexuality when Hamza was in Kindergarten and came home to tell me a girl in his class said she was going to marry a girl when she grew up, and he told her, no she couldn't, because her mom married her dad and that's what she had to do. A basic introduction was needed and even though I was sure he had gained a little more information via the neighborhood kids, I wasn't ready.

I really needed to share my excitement with someone. My Reddah!.. Oh, where was Reddah? Reddah would understand! She would have been as excited as I was. I felt sad at the thought of her cute little face beaming at our sighting of Josh and the cute little giggle she would be laughing at that very minute. She would have understood me, had she been there. It would have been a harmless picture. Anyway, I Tweeted and Facebooked it as soon as we got to JFK. I wrote season 10 instead of 9 by mistake, and my spell check thought I wanted to write "stars truck" instead of "star-struck"I hate it when that happens.

Gypsy Money

I was raised to believe it was somewhere along the lines of vulgar to talk about money in any capacity to anyone outside the family unless some emergency was involved. However, since It's essential to the story of my journey, I'm breaking that rule for this blog.

So the thing about money among our brand of Gypsy is that it acts like one itself.. always coming and going when it pleases. Some days it shows up unannounced and other days you plan and plan based on messages its sent you about its estimated time if arrival, only to find it decided not to show up at all.. or somehow got rerouted on its way to you and whoops.. you'll have to wait another month. We don't deal in credit AT ALL, more on that later.

With my husband stuck overseas, it's no surprise that our financial situation was less than abundant. Much of our monetary support came from my father. Rent I managed on my own, and dad helped with bills and other expenses when he could, which had been challenging on a fixed income (not to mention his money's a Gypsy too).

This trip was an emergency. Hamza was getting worse and it was clear he needed his father. Fortunately for us I did not need to look outside the tribe for the money for the tickets. Being the tight knit crew that we are, it is especially hard to ask large amounts of money from within us, especially not knowing when you could repay it. Mainly I think it's culture, but also you want to increase the wealth of the tribe, not decrease it. My brother, who is without doubt the best soul I've ever had the privilege of knowing (let alone be related to) had footed the bill. He is the Sheikh of the family. More on our amazing adventures later.

In the days before our return to the Motherland, money was never a worry. A major advantage of owning your own businesses is that payday is frankly whenever you need it to be.

We arrived at the airport in what seemed a flash. For the entire twenty-five minute ride I'd been busy stuffing odds and ends into the outer pockets of our luggage and arranging my carry-on so that babies necessities were readily accessible. We got to the check in counter and I checked four bags and payed the $110 fee.

When I originally set my mind to purchasing tickets I thought it'd be cheaper to book an Airtran flight into New York, and a then find tickets from NY to Cairo. I'd done just that last year around this time and it was good. I got a great deal. I found a good deal this time too. What I neglected to realize was that last year it was just me. This time there were three other persons, all of whom needed bags for their stuff. Not only that, but Airtran uses Laguardia, and the cheapest flight to Cairo was on Royal Jordanian which left out of John F. Kennedy airport. This would mean taking a shuttle bus (like I did last year). What's more is that the checked baggage price had gone up. Last year when I was returning from Cairo I had one bag and one carry-on. The delightful AirTran ticketman informed me that instead of paying the $25 to check my second bag, I could just pay $20 more to upgrade to business class and get 2 free checked bags... Umm, Yes please? I should have known I'd lucked out with that one. The new policy as of February 2013 was first checked bag $25, second checked bag $35, per ticket. Once we got our connection in NYC, we would each get two free checked bags. With that in mind.. resourceful and thrifty gypsy that I am, I came up with a brilliant plan!

Four days before lift off, the brilliant plan was thus: Dad's retired from FEDEX and as such he gets a ridiculous discount on anything he ships. So, what I could do is ship the suitcases to JFK where they would already be waiting for me! I could travel light as a feather an not have to lug six cases from LGA onto a shuttle to JFK and on through the airport to Royal Jordanian's baggage check with an infant and two children in tow. I shared my plan with pops and he was game. We measured up the cases and weighed them and he called in for a quote. It was $85 and that was before some other potential discount. Ridiculousness! I was really excited. By the time I'd gotten everything squared, I'd lost a day. It was Thursday afternoon when dad called me with the quote and the message that I'd need to call in a pickup before 5pm today to FEDEX but first I'd need to get the address for Royal Jordanian at JFK where my luggage would be shipped. When I learned all this, I was out to lunch with my friend Angela. No worries, I thought. I'll get home and get right on the phones. And what a relief it will be to have the packing done. Right?

I got home at 4pm and got right to it. Several different phone numbers and a lot of frustration later, I finally talk to someone, most likely by accident from RJ customer care who told me in about four words that it couldn't be done. Just as I was about to get defensive, I realized that he was right. If people could just send baggage to be held at an airport, that would open the doors to all kinds of chaos. And anyone who's ever been in an airport has had the pleasure of being consistently reminded via pleasant voiced announcement lady to never ever under any circumstances accept a package from anyone, or leave your baggage unattended for any reason. I glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes till 5pm. My brain made one last attempt at the plan. I could have it sent to a FEDEX office in NYC and pick it up once we got there.. or even better have it delivered to me right at the curb of the terminal. We had an eight hour layover. Fail.. I was flying on a Sunday and no offices would be open or deliveries being made. I wanted it to work out so badly. I began to feel depressed. Then, all I could see in my mind was a vision of me and the kids standing at some service desk in the airport, sans luggage, feeling and looking like the fabulous mess we'd be in; our luggage no where to be found. All because I was trying to save $50? It wasn't worth it. I breathed a sigh and reached for my wallet.

Setting Out

For the past eight months my parents, my brother (his family), and I had all been living in the same complex. My brother lived in the town house next to mine, with our parents in a smaller two bedroom in the building just across the parking lot. It was the perfect setup and I would have been happy to stay there for a while once Moustafa got his visa and joined us, until we could save enough and find a house with a nice yard for the kids. But of course.. that wasn't happening. I'd packed up our simple home into a PODS container for storage and we'd been sleeping on my parents living room floor for the past three weeks in true gypsy fashion. Hamza, Ayah, and I shared the blow up mattress. Reddah and Ahmed took opposite ends of the sectional. It wasn't that bad especially since Hamza often slept with my parents on account of his night terrors. He'd been having them regularly over the past year. Just one symptom in a series of odd developments which I'd learned had come about as a result of being separated from his father.. More on that storm later.

The morning of our flight things went as chaotic as expected. I had hoped to wake early enough to finish the final re-pack and take Reddah to breakfast at Panera Bread. My friend Rana had given me a gift card at the going away party my girl friends gave me two days earlier. Of course the repack took longer than expected and I had to tell Reddah that her Taytay would take her later. She didn't seem too disappointed, considering it was supposed to be our last mother daughter meeting. I figured doing something she liked would help take the sting out of the day's events, no matter whom with.

It was drizzling appropriately all morning and my father began to announce that if we didn't leave in the next ten minutes, we would miss the flight. I told him it was a domestic flight since we were flying into NY first, so two hours early was plenty of time. He proceeded to rush us anyway, which in retrospect was a good thing because as gypsies, we are NEVER on time... ANYWHERE.. no matter HOW hard we try (with a few exceptions). My brother came in from across the way with his two year old powerhouse Yusuf. He agreed with my father and we all proceeded to have a "discussion" from across the apartment about why it was in fact NOT considered an international flight because I'd booked the flights separately and they were not on the same ticket; while I dressed the baby in the back room. More on the catastrophe that booking flights separately causes in a bit.

When I finally got downstairs, everyone was in the car, including Yusuf. My sister-in-law Minky was standing at the door with their daughter Hana who's only five days younger than Ayah. We kissed and hugged, and cooed how the babies will not see each other for a while. Then we made them kiss and let them grab at each other until my brother hurried us along. Yusuf refused to leave the boys and continued to sit in the back seat of the van as if he knew it was more than a trip to the store, and was down for the adventure. I kissed him and told him I loved him, as usual. He said something half English/half Korean sounding and then my brother took him and they both stood outside the van, never minding the rain. They smiled and waved to us and said something else in Korean, which I'm guessing was something along the lines of Bon voyage! Or, see you soon!

There, here and back again..

In a few short days my children and I will be headed back to Egypt. Or, as I like to call it.. The Motherland. We moved to Egypt in 2009 and stayed until February of 2011, just after the revolution was in full swing. It's been a little over two years since my sons have been back. Their father is dying to see the two of them.. he'll never believe how much they've both grown in two short years. We also have an eight month old whom he's never seen beyond our frequent Skype and video messages. Needless to say, it will be a very very emotional reunion.

There's also our Reddah, (our eldest) whom he's also anxious to see, but won't be joining us till later this summer. She will stay behind to finish up the school year with my darling mother, who's also her homeschool learning coach. After a year of giving public school a try (more on THAT later!), we made the decision to homeschool all the kids this year, including Reddah. It seemed more conducive to our beliefs to homeschool, not to mention our gypsy ways. I've come to accept that it must be our lot in life to never stay in the same place for more than a year. Even within the same town or city. We're constantly, and I mean CONSTANTLY moving... More on that later.

I was prepared for all of us to pick up and go, then decided it would be best to let Reddah finish out her routine here with her favorite person in the world (her darling grandmother) until I have established a routine in Egypt with the rest of the crew (her brothers and sister) and my favorite person in the world (her darling father). Reddah is an Aspie, so change and the "fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants" schedule that we'll encounter when we first arrive would be especially difficult for her... More on that later.

Most of the time I never feel fully "at home" anywhere, even when I'm home (gypsy nature). But, The States are home for me. Most all of my extended family are here, I met my husband here, we married here, launched and ran businesses here, and raised our babies here.. for the most part.

In 2009, we returned to Egypt. My husband is an Egyptian national who though we were married for seven years, was never able to fix his immigration status. Yes, I will divulge more of the details of that later. 

The two years we spent in Egypt were spent moving all over Cairo and north-eastern Egypt, naturally, before returning to home where we've been living for the past two years. So, it's been two years since we've all been in the same room together. Hard for the children especially, but even more so for Moustafa. Up until the revolution he had never been apart from his children for more than a week. Much much more on our revolutionary experience later.

As for myself, I've been back and forth over the past two years working hard on our visa process. And so we wait and wait and wait for his visa to arrive so that we can return again. It's better to wait together than to wait apart. So, we return.