Holy Mole

I have the best neighbors in the world.
Seriously.
I'm fully convinced that after putting in 13 offers, God allowed this house to be the one,
not because it's kind of ghetto,
or because our fence got tagged, 
or because they used to grow pot in what is now Lincoln's room,
but because Maria and Ramone are our neighbors.


We call her Mari.


My children would be o.k if she was their mom. 


I am ALWAYS thankful for Mari, but am gushing right now because of this:

That's right. 
5:00 on a hot Thursday evening, and dinner shows up at my door.
Mexican food.
Real Mexican food. 
Mari and Ramone are from Tijuana.
This is homemade chicken mole, cilantro rice, and roasted corn.
Just because.
She does this almost weekly.
Just because.
Sometimes soup.
Sometimes fish tacos.
Sometimes crab salad. 


And, to shine up the halo on Mari's head, 
while bringing the dinner in, she looked around at the DISASTER that was(is) my house, 
and asked if I wanted her to pick up for me.
Seriously.
Broken english and all, this women is a Saint.


I really wish I spoke Spanish.


Want one more reason to love her and covet my position as her neighbor?


While her 8 year old was reading books to my kids, she asked if the kids could go to her house and play.


I have a hot dinner, 
a messy house ( I wasn't actually going to let her clean just because I am lazy),
and a quiet house (minus Lincoln's squeals.)


I don't even mind that Romone stores his Shopvac in his cactus.