By Ashley Butler 
Some days, my brain feels like an internet browser with every single tab open, music blaring from somewhere I can’t find. Other days, it’s like my phone with 42 apps running in the background, draining the battery twice as fast.
Either way, the system is overloaded—and shutting down isn’t an option.
This is motherhood.
There’s the grocery tab (did I already add milk or was that last week?).
The school forms tab (due yesterday, naturally).
The doctor’s appointment tab I keep meaning to schedule but somehow never get to.
The costume-for-Spirit-Day tab.
And the I-forgot-to-take-the-clothes-out-of-the-washer tab, which means everything smells like mildew, so now I have to rewash it all, which delays the next pile of dirty laundry waiting in line. Lather, rinse, repeat—literally.
And those are just the tabs I can name. I know there are dozens more spinning quietly in the background, eating up memory and slowing down everything else—like the random mental reminder to send in lunch money or the guilt-tab whispering that I still haven’t responded to a text from last week.
Motherhood is the ultimate multi-tab experience. It’s why my brain feels like it has 63 things running at once, but none of them are running smoothly.
Unlike a normal browser, mom-brain tabs don’t just sit there until you close them. They multiply. One undone task creates three new ones. Forgot to sign the field trip form? Now you’re also adding “send apology email to teacher” and “hunt down crumpled permission slip from bottom of backpack.”
Sometimes I joke that I need an IT department for my brain. Someone to come in, shut down the processes that aren’t serving me anymore, and clear the cookies. (Actually, no—leave the cookies. The edible kind. Moms need those.)
There’s humor tucked in here if I let myself see it. Like the day I ran to the store for eggs and came home with everything but eggs. Or when my daughter asked, “Can we go to the playground?” and I absentmindedly answered, “Orange juice,” because I was mid-recital of the grocery list in my head. She blinked at me like I’d lost it—because in that moment, I kind of had.
And don’t even get me started on walking into a room only to forget why I went there in the first place. I stand there frozen, scanning the walls for clues like I’m in some kind of escape room, hoping my brain will reload the tab it just closed without my permission.
If I step back, it’s almost funny. My kids think I’m distracted because I can’t focus on their story about what happened at school. They don’t realize I’m simultaneously running mental checks on whether there are clean socks for tomorrow, if the laundry will ever get folded, and whether I remembered to switch the clothes to the dryer before bed.
It’s chaos. And it’s comedy. Usually at my expense.
Here’s the shift I’ve been trying to make: maybe the goal isn’t to close every single tab. Maybe motherhood was never designed for a clean desktop.
I’m realizing some tabs aren’t meant to be shut. They’re reminders of the love I carry—the birthday party I want to plan, the note I want to tuck into a backpack, the silly story I don’t want to forget. Those tabs might be noisy, but they’re also proof of how deeply I care.
Of course, there are still tabs that deserve to be shut down: the guilt tabs, the “you’re not doing enough” tabs, the endless comparison tabs. Those aren’t helping anyone. Those are the pop-ups of motherhood. And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to hit the little “x” on those and let them go.
If today you can’t find your mouse, or your music won’t stop playing, or you’re just one click away from shutting down—know this: you’re not alone. My browser looks just like yours.
So here’s to the moms with too many tabs. May your coffee be hot, your Wi-Fi strong, and your cookies always the edible kind.
Because even when the system lags, you’re still running. And that’s more than enough.
by Jorrie Varney 
by Moriah Couch 
by Aliette Silva 
