I grabbed the Book of Mormon and read 3 verses aloud to J, who was standing at the door, ready to walk out. In essence, I didn’t really read scriptures to my son. I sort of just threw them at him. Kinda like a poptart launched from the toaster as the kid walks out the door (wasn’t there a commercial like that? No? Well, there should have been Why doesn’t anybody ever ask me about these things?).
I called DH (who is coming home tonight. Hally-looya), and told him about the morning.
“Yeah, we didn’t really get scripture time in,” and told him what happened.
“Well, getting a scripture tossed at you as you walked out the door is better than nothing.”