I’m not going to lie. Writing these “about me” sections is on par with setting my hair on fire and beating it out with a golf shoe. But I won’t, because my hair is my best feature. And on days when I’m sleep deprived and the circles under my eyes look like I have a serious illness, my hair is the only good feature I have left.
Either way, I’m not setting my hair on fire. Because I like it.
My name is Liz.
I’m a mother. I’m a wife. I wrote a book one time, and now I freelance. I’ve moved from Arkansas to New York, from New York to New Jersey, and now back again to Arkansas. How do I feel about being home? They’re going to have to carry me out of here feet first. My love for being home is aggressive.
I obsess about all things home related. I get blissed out when I find a beautiful vintage plate. I get hot and yell-y when someone asks me what I think of chevron patterns. I stalk old homes, and bonus points if they have crumbling gingerbread and seem a little creepy. If I was paid in Pinterest-hours I would be richer than the Kardashians, but with sensible flat shoes and a house in the country. Halloween is my favorite holiday, I listen to the Amelie soundtrack way too often, and there is nothing in this world I love more than smelling the top of my kid’s head, even after an hour at the park.