I was recently sitting in my car in a parking lot eating rolled tacos with my daughter. We each had a cold, sweet Pepsi – the fountain kind over ice – where the mix of syrup to soda water is so perfect it brings a tear to your eye. The AC was on full blast, allowing us to remain blissfully unaware of the 95 degree day outside. The sun that shone down through the glass was warm, and the tacos had just come out of the fryer and were loaded with guac and cheese and crunchy lettuce with big dollops of sour cream. It was three o’clock already and I hadn’t had lunch yet. She’d just left dance and P.E., the edges of her hairline still damp and sweaty. We were both good and hungry.

I cradled the foam container between us, she eating from one end and I eating from the other, a shared taco sauce between us for dipping. It occurred to me we hadn’t spoken in several minutes as we demolished the taco goldmine between us. Our eyes met. We both started nodding, the kind of nodding that is meant to quietly affirm that these tacos and this cold drink are not just hitting our stomachs, but our souls.

If you would have asked me in my 20s how to describe my perfect moment, I would’ve had a wildly different explanation than eating tacos in a car. But if I Iay dying right now, feeling the life slip out of me, I would picture that moment. I would picture her face in that car. I would picture her laughing when I said something funny as she wiped globs of guacamole off her chin.

My daughter is 12 now. This version of her is totally and utterly different than the six year old version of her or the two year old version of her. Obviously this goes without saying, but it’s important to mention because something I don’t see discussed much is what a trip it is to get to constantly know a new version of your own child. I’ve gotten to see the sweet and carefree toddler, the introspective and starting to question the world child, and the hysterical and totally brilliant pre-teen girl. I marvel. I can’t wait for all the other versions, but I won’t lie. I sure wish it would slow down.

I have gratitude for many things big and small, but I am most grateful when I think about the simple joy of my daughter’s company. That I get to be around her, that I get to be her mom.

My son, who is 14, isn’t really into the tacos-in-the-car kind of moments, but when I do get them, my heart leaps at the unexpected joy. When your indifferent teenage boy comes out of nowhere and rests his head on your shoulder, you make him chocolate chip cookies. I think that’s a rule somewhere. And then as you hand him a glass of milk so he’ll stay and enjoy some, you very carefully plumb the depths of his heart to get him to open up about his life. It doesn’t always work, but I find the formula works best when there are baked goods.

I won’t always be here. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. I know one small thing could take me out of this life and away from them – I have no control over that. While that’s terrifying, it’s also comforting in a way. Because knowing it could all end cuts through and clarifies what matters, and what does not. Not a bank balance, not a house – just that perfect simple moment eating tacos with my daughter when I was the richest person on earth.