Helper’s Heart at Shepherd’s Daycare

The morning sunlight streamed through the colorful curtains of the Rainbow Room at Shepherd’s Daycare, casting rainbow patterns across the toy-scattered floor. Bodhi, the 20-year-old assistant caretaker, surveyed the aftermath of what had been an especially enthusiastic arts and crafts session. Glitter sparkled on every surface, construction paper scraps dotted the floor like confetti, and several upturned containers of crayons had created a kaleidoscope of color across the play mats.

“Alright, everyone! Time for outdoor play,” announced Mr. Peterson, the lead teacher, clapping his hands to get the children’s attention. “Let’s line up by the door.”

The room erupted into excited squeals as twelve toddlers scrambled to form what could only generously be called a “line,” resembling more of a wiggling caterpillar than anything straight. All except for one—little Mitchell, who at just two years old, stood beside a shelf of picture books, his big brown eyes watching the commotion with mild interest.

“Mitchell,” Bodhi called gently, approaching the toddler. “Don’t you want to go outside with the others? Mr. Peterson is going to blow bubbles today.”

Mitchell looked up at Bodhi, then pointedly at the messy room, and shook his head. “Clean,” he declared with the certainty only a toddler could muster for such a task. He clutched his favorite blue bottle in one hand, the apple juice inside sloshing as he gestured at the scattered toys.

Bodhi couldn’t help but smile at the determined little boy. Mitchell was the youngest in their group, having just moved up from the infant room last month. His speech was still developing, but his personality was already fully formed—thoughtful, methodical, and surprisingly neat for a child his age.

“Are you sure? You can help me clean up later when everyone comes back inside,” Bodhi offered, crouching down to Mitchell’s level.

Mitchell shook his head again, more firmly this time. “Help now,” he insisted, taking a long sip from his bottle. His freshly changed Pampers crinkled as he toddled over to a pile of wooden blocks and began placing them one by one into their designated basket.

“Alright then,” Bodhi conceded with a chuckle. “Mr. Peterson, Mitchell and I are going to stay behind and tidy up a bit.”

Mr. Peterson nodded from the doorway where he was counting heads. “That’s fine. We’ll be right outside on the playground if you need anything.” With a final wave, he ushered the chattering group of toddlers out into the sunny day, leaving behind a sudden, relative quiet.

Bodhi turned on some gentle music—Mitchell’s favorite playlist of children’s folk songs—and joined the toddler in his mission. “You’re quite the helper today, Mitchell. What should we clean first?”

Mitchell, bottle now firmly between his lips, pointed decisively toward the art table. “Messy,” he said around the nipple of his bottle, his voice slightly muffled.

Together they moved around the room, Mitchell sucking contentedly on his bottle between instructions and cleanup efforts. For a two-year-old, his attention to detail was remarkable. He insisted on matching the lids to the right marker colors, separating the toy animals by type (not just tossing them all in one bin as Bodhi might have done), and even attempting to wipe down the small table with a cloth Bodhi dampened for him.

“The farm animals go here,” Mitchell declared, momentarily removing his bottle to make this important point before returning to it. He methodically placed each plastic cow, horse, and chicken in their farm-themed container, occasionally pausing for a longer drink from his bottle.

Bodhi noticed that Mitchell’s fresh Pampers—changed just before craft time—didn’t slow him down one bit as he squatted to pick up toys and stood on tiptoes to place books back on lower shelves. The toddler moved with purpose, his bottle a constant companion, alternating between intense concentration on his tasks and long, thoughtful sips.

“You know, Mitchell,” Bodhi said as he wiped glitter from a table, “most kids your age can’t focus on cleaning for this long. You’re doing an amazing job.”

Mitchell beamed at the praise, his bottle tilted upward as he finished the last of his juice. A dribble escaped down his chin, which Bodhi gently wiped away with a tissue.

“More clean,” Mitchell insisted, pointing to a corner where dress-up clothes had been left in a heap.

As they worked side by side, Bodhi found himself appreciating this unexpected one-on-one time. In the busy daycare environment, such moments were rare. Mitchell, though limited in vocabulary, communicated clearly through gestures and expressions, occasionally removing his now-empty bottle to give more specific instructions or to declare an area “all done” before moving on to the next project.

Mitchell’s father had mentioned during drop-off that his son had recently developed a strong interest in household tasks, wanting to help with everything from sorting laundry to arranging groceries at home. “He’s either going to be an organizer or an engineer,” he had joked. “Everything has its place in Mitchell’s world.”

That trait was evident now as Mitchell stood back, bottle in mouth, critically examining their work on the bookshelf. Something wasn’t quite right. He removed his bottle, handed it to Bodhi, and rearranged three books so they were ordered by size. “Better,” he declared with satisfaction, reaching for his bottle again.

By the time the sounds of returning children grew louder in the hallway, the Rainbow Room had undergone a remarkable transformation. Toys were sorted, surfaces wiped, and even the reading corner pillows had been fluffed and arranged (Mitchell had been particularly insistent about this).

Bodhi knelt down to Mitchell’s level. “I need to do a final inspection of our work. Would you like to help me check if everything is clean?”

Mitchell nodded eagerly, his empty bottle still clutched in one hand. Together, they walked around the room as Bodhi pointed out all they had accomplished.

“The blocks are put away.”
“Block done,” Mitchell echoed.
“The art supplies are all sorted.”
“Colors good,” Mitchell agreed.
“And the book corner looks beautiful.”
“Books nice,” Mitchell said with a definitive nod.

When the other children burst back into the room with Mr. Peterson, they stopped in surprise at the sight of the tidy space.

“Wow! What happened in here?” Mr. Peterson asked, genuinely impressed.

“Mitchell happened,” Bodhi answered with a smile, resting a gentle hand on the toddler’s shoulder. “He’s the best cleaning partner I’ve ever had.”

Mitchell, still clutching his empty bottle, beamed with pride. His fresh Pampers crinkled as he did a little happy dance, then toddled off to greet his returning friends, ready to show them exactly where each toy belonged—should they dare to misplace anything in his newly organized kingdom.

That afternoon during naptime, as Bodhi gently covered Mitchell with his favorite blue blanket, the toddler fought sleep just long enough to murmur, “Clean more tomorrow?” His bottle, refilled with water, rested beside his cot.

“Absolutely,” Bodhi whispered. “You and me, buddy. The clean team.”

Mitchell smiled drowsily, finally allowing his eyelids to close, dreaming perhaps of a world where everything was in its perfect place—just the way he liked it.