The nomadic daughter is returning.  Sort of.  Though I’ll still be a four-hour flight away from my family, purple mountain majesty lies ahead.  This move has had more planning and paperwork than any of our others.  But after a year of hoop hopping and other cliché rigmarole, JD’s card is now almost Green and so’s his horn.  African in tow, I’m coming back, America.

We want this and have worked for it and paid a pretty US penny for it.  Even still, it’s bittersweet.  Not just leaving Vietnam and our friends, but also leaving a particularly ear-perking noun.  I will no longer be an ex-pat (big hat immigrant, if you will).  Soon I’m just a regular old pat.

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