Bro, Mitchell, My Car Needs You

Mitchell showed up today, strutting around in his classic uniform—shirt and pampers—ready to take on the world. Well, not the world exactly. This time, I had a mission for him that would test his resilience, his focus, and, apparently, his digestive system. The task? Washing my car, military-style. And by military-style, I mean barking orders at himself in a toddler-esque drill sergeant voice while proudly parading around in—you guessed it—his shirt and pampers.

Things got interesting right out of the gate. Mitchell marched up to the car like it was a stubborn recruit that needed breaking in. “Forward, march!” he barked to himself, stomping his feet dramatically in the driveway. He grabbed the hose, blasted the car like it owed him an apology, and stepped back, hands on his hips, inspecting his progress. That’s when it hit me—this was no ordinary car wash. This was a spectacle.

With a sponge in hand and water dripping everywhere, Mitchell went for the passenger door. He scrubbed and shouted things like, “Sir, yes, sir!” as if the car itself had given him orders. Every few minutes, though, he’d pause mid-scrub, scrunch his face, and—well—release an unfiltered burst of “tactical gas.” It didn’t slow him down one bit. Nope, Mitchell was on a mission, and no internal turbulence was going to stop him.

When he got to the windshield, he used the sponge like a paintbrush, swirling suds in bold, artistic patterns. “Camouflage complete!” he yelled, pretty proud of his masterpiece. Then, of course, came his victory lap around the car. He saluted the tires, gave the mirrors a pep talk, and pretended the exhaust pipe was an enemy bunker that needed defending. By the time he was done, the car was cleaner... in some spots. Other areas? Well, they still bore the evidence of Mitchell’s unique cleaning methods—and maybe a little leftover soap.

Watching Mitchell clean wasn’t just entertaining—it was a reminder of his unshakable determination, carefree confidence, and ability to make any task his own. Sure, my car wasn’t magazine-cover shiny, but the experience? Totally worth it.

Journal Prompt:
If you had to entrust Mitchell with a chore, what would it be? How would you encourage him and guide him yet still let him make it his own? Reflect on what lessons he (and you) might take from the process.