“Can It Be For One Minute Please?”

[Dutch Lock Down Day Three Hundred Eighty Six]

Photo by Tara Raye on Unsplash

Every night around eight p.m. local time, we tell First Minion it’s time for bed and ever since I can remember since time immemorial he’s replied with a request for just one more minute.

Of course, he must’ve learned that at some point because I’m sure he wasn’t saying it with ‘please’ or nearly as many words when he was, say, two years old, but it’s been YEARS.

And when he asks for that one more minute, the condition of said minute is that he gets undressed for bed and then he gets about another five minutes of screen time.

Therefore, I’ve started telling him it’s bedtime at… ten BEFORE eight.

Which isn’t true.

And I feel absolutely NO guilt.

Because it will only work for so long before something shifts and nights are a new and wonderful puzzle to be solved.

But first the news:

The sun is staying up longer. And coming up earlier. And the twins are getting older. And so is First Minion. And it’s about time for everyone’s bedtimes to shift to later because they’re getting older, not because the nights are getting shorter. But it’s going to upset the delicate balance that currently exists only in my mind.


The upstairs room is renovated. The construction is done. The bed is fixed. And made. The house is ready for Papa and I to move upstairs into our own floor, move First Minion into his own room, and the twins to have their own room.

It’s going to be absolute chaos.

I need one more minute.

One more day.

One more week before we throw the house into chaos, move everyone around, shift everyone’s bedtime and no one sleeps through the night.

I’m not ready.

Can I have one more week, please?

Maybe two?