What's my motivation?

We have had a little trouble with motivation around here the last couple of days. With one child in particular. To protect the not-so-innocent, no names will be used, but it may not be too hard to figure out. I'll narrow it down for you with a pronoun.

Last night we all went down to clean the basement. One child took her time getting down there, then protested at the amount of stuff she had to clean. She obviously didn't take into consideration all that had been cleaned before she got there. There was some whining, some strange animal-like sounds, and then silence. Had she just bitten the bullet and got to work? No, she was lounging on some pillows under the stairs reading a book. Glenn and I were busy with cleaning of our own, so she must have thought she had gotten away with it, since we pretty much ignored her. But she was required to put some things away, and she did it, dragging (or stomping) her feet all the way.

Fast forward to this morning. There's always a rush to get 3 girls out the door, and this morning they added snow pants and snow boots to the mix. They wear the boots to school and change into regular shoes once they get there, and then put the boots and snow pants on for recess. From what I understand, this is standard procedure among the kids at school. Seems like a lot of work to me.

But I digress. As I am helping this child with her things, I look to the cubby where her backpack goes in the front closet. First of all, these backpacks are supposed to be PACKED and ready to go the night before. Not so. Her folder and worksheet were just laying there. And then to top it off, I see the sweatshirt that was in the basement last night in her backpack cubby, not in her room where she was supposed to put it! This is her M.O. When asked to put something away, don't put it where it really belongs, just move it to a different location. Needless to day, I wasn't happy, and she walked out the door with tears in her eyes.

Here's the kicker. About an hour ago, I get a call from the school. It is this child, telling me that she left her tennis shoes at home, and can I please bring them to the school for her? Really. After all this. Really. I told her that I couldn't come at that time, and I would when I could. Sometimes you just have to laugh, because otherwise, you'll explode.

Gotta run. Someone is waiting for their tennies.