Not You Again...

It may come as no surprise to you that I am a list person. I have an app on my phone (tech credit always goes to the husband) that allows me to make my lists and check a box when a task is complete. Awesome. In my mind, a task gets checked off when it's actually done. Done, as in, never to be done again. Completed. Forever. Great, now I can free up mental space for a new task or at least get back to all the things I've neglected in order to get this one thing done.  
Ha! Is there such a thing as something that is actually done?!? What a joke! I live in a brain that wants this illusion of completed tasks to hold up as reality. But how many things in life do you only have to do once? Especially anything you'd put on a list. (Though I did have list as a child that included "get baptized when ready.") 
Sometimes I find myself surprised that repetitive tasks continue to present themselves. Laundry. School lunches. Responding to my 6 year old who prefaces everything that comes out of her mouth with, "Mom, can I ask you a question?" Dude, JUST ASK THE QUESTION. Eating. Balancing our budget. Breastfeeding. Brushing my teeth. It's like, I run my tongue over my teeth, feel the grit, and go, "really, AGAIN? How many times does a girl gotta brush her teeth around here?!?!"
Yes, I went there. And all the people who just love brushing their teeth and probably don't even wait for the inevitable grit to appear are officially disgusted. I categorize these people as "flossers." Not sure if you're aware of this but some people actually floss DAILY. Not just when they get steak in their teeth. Every. Damn. Day. They probably wash their face at night too. Thankfully, I'm married to a man who doesn't even care if I shave my legs, so flossing is completely off the table. Ooh wait, does that mean I can blame him for my irritation at the merry-go-round of the mundane, which sadly, often includes showering? (Btw, I did win a contest in my college apartment for least showering. Still proud). 
I feel like in the blogging world (I'm new here, so tell me if I'm wrong. Except don't. Because I hate that), after such a rant, there is an expectation that I'm supposed to tidy up the mess I've revealed. There's supposed to be some philosophical moment now about how it's all worth it, how I should be so lucky to have legs to shave and babies to nurse throughout the night, etc. While those things may indeed be true, I find myself instead trying to figure out a tactful way to ask my underage babysitter if I can add brushing my teeth to the list of inane tasks I like her to do for me...hmm.