A bedtime routine is not a list of things to get through. It is a slope: each step a little quieter, a little dimmer, a little closer to lying down, so that by the last step sleep is the obvious next thing. Most routines that fail do so because a step near the end points uphill — a game, a screen, a negotiation.

The order matters more than the contents

What goes in the routine is up to your family. What order it goes in is not, really. Anything energetic — bath play, tickling, a last run around — belongs early. Anything that involves a decision — which pyjamas, which cup — belongs before the lights go down, because decisions wake children up. The last two steps should be the same every night and should need nothing from the child except being there.

For most families the last two steps are a story and a goodnight. The story is the hinge: it is the first thing in the routine that asks the child to be still, and it works because it gives them a reason to be.

Where the story goes

After teeth, after the toilet, after the drink of water — after every reason to get up again has been used. In bed, or at least on it, with the main light off and one small one on. If the story is being read from a phone or tablet, turn the brightness right down and hold it low; the screen should be a page, not a lamp.

Five minutes is a good length. Long enough that a child can settle into it, short enough that it ends before they are past tired. This is roughly why every DreamStories story is written to five minutes: it is the length of a good wind-down, not the length of a good book.

Ending it

The end of the story is the end of the routine, and everyone in the room should know that in advance. A last question, a goodnight, and out. If there is a second story on offer, decide that before the first one starts, not after it ends — the negotiation is the thing that undoes the wind-down.

The narrated stories here end on a single question to talk about. Left running, the reader will offer the next story — so decide before you press play whether tonight is one story or two, and stop it there. A story that ends is a routine that ends.

When it falls apart

It will, some nights. A child who is overtired, or overexcited, or has something on their mind will not follow the slope. On those nights, shorten it rather than abandon it: skip to the story, keep it short, keep the voice low. The routine's value is in its shape, and the shape survives being compressed. What it does not survive is being skipped for a week.