I fought in the war, but the toothpaste won.

I tried. I really did try to help this child. And, as most of you already know, I'm referring to my beautiful, autistic 3 year old. I will try not to mention the "A" word too many times, because I don't want it to define who she is. She, herself, defines who she is. So back to where I was. The dear child wanted to brush her teeth. However, I was not allowed to help. I am NEVER allowed to help. When the pajama's are being put on backwards, and she's rolling around screaming as if they were poisonous I am not allowed to help.  When she wants a glass of chocolate milk, and refuses to let me help, and the chocolate powder gets dumped into her cup like an elderly woman addicted to Metamucil, I am not allowed to help. And so today when she decided to randomnly brush her teeth, you guessed it, I was not allowed to help. So here we are in the kitchen together. Me, watching her squeeze half a tube of toothpaste onto her brush, and her, completely missing the brush. And where does the toothpaste end up? On the floor, of course.  So here I am watching this toothpaste hit the floor, and decide that it's time for a mother's helping hand. Which was not well recieved. Immediately the outreach of my hand to grab the tube sent Molly into a frenzy. A frenzy that ended with this 3 year old slipping around on the kitchen floor that was covered in toothpaste. But, does she give up? Does she surrender to the paste and move on to more important things like Special Agent Oso and a cookie? Of course not. She forges on. And, while squirming on the toothpaste infested floor, she manages to get the toothbrush into her mouth. And, alas, the toothbrushing was accomplished. So, in the end, I fought the war, but the toothpaste won.