Over the last few days, I have realised that both my daughters and myself and even my husband have started using the sentence ‘two more minutes’ as a delay tactic. The girls are very clever. They use it as a way to get me to give them a few more minutes of pleasure doing whatever it is they’re doing. Things like playing in the bath, watching TV, playing with their toys, or not tidying up.

The Children’s Version

Two more minutes mummy?

This has become my youngest daughter’s favourite way of delaying getting out of the bath. I end up taking her sister out first, and then letting her play for ‘two more minutes’, while I dry and dress my eldest.

Mummy’s Version 

The way that I use it is a little more, desperate and begging.

Please, just give mummy TWO MORE MINUTES!

I just need to finish unpacking the groceries from the car, or dishing up dinner, maybe going to the loo, or even just lying in bed at 05.30am on a Sunday for two more minutes! Before of course, I lose my shit!

“Just give mommy two more minutes! Please?”

I also tend to use it when they are at their most demanding. By that I mean, when they get stuck. You know how an old record (LP) would get stuck and continuously repeat a second of a song. The girls do that sometimes. They get stuck.

“Mummy, I want a juice. Juice mummy. Mummy juice. Can I have some juice please mummy? Mummy, where’s my juice? Juice, juice, juice. Where’s my juice?”

Literally, this narrative is said in one long sentence, with barely a breath is taken. It becomes impossible to get the juice made and to give it to them quick enough to stop the relentless barrage of demands. It’s like they’ve never had juice ever in their entire lives! The sheer volume, speed and repetitiveness make me panic inside. As a person who suffers from anxiety, you can just imagine what this does to me! I feel like if I don’t give them the juice right NOW that they might actually expire before my very eyes!

Two more minutes later and I feel like I’ve just saved the world from a terrifying threat. I take a breath and think to myself … “WTF just happened?” lol


Daddy Is No Help!

My husband’s part in this plays out like this: he will see it happening and in an attempt to ‘save me’ he will shout

“Just give your mother two more minutes!”.

They will turn and look at him with horrified expressions on their faces as if to say

“Why are you shouting at me daddy? You have mortally wounded my soul! My heart is now broken. All I wanted was juice so I don’t die!”


At least that reaction gives me ‘two more minutes’, Two more minutes for me to actually pour the juice! 

After that it will then approximately two more minutes before one of them spills their juice on the floor.



I guess at some point I should consider … what will actually happen after ‘two more minutes’?