Space trash

Owen is sooooooooo lonely without Sam.

He popped into my room tonight.

"Hey mom," he smiles, winking at me.

He knows he's not supposed to be out of bed, but he thinks a smile and a wink-nudge will make it okay.

It does.

We chat about many many things.

"Do you remember going to Horizon, Owen?"

"Of course I do. I remember the first day I went there."

Liar. You don't even remember your birthdate.

"Oh you do?  That was a long time ago!" [indulgent smile]

"Yeah, I got in to a little bit of trouble for my voice being too loud. I didn't know my voice was too loud because it was the same voice that I had been using at my other school.  I know now that even kindergarteners sometimes have voices that were too loud, but I didn't know that then and I felt sad for breaking rules I didn't understand."

Oh. Well then. Maybe he does remember.

We then talked for a bit about packing lunch vs. hot lunch. Packing lunch has the benefit of healthy foods he probably likes, but hot lunch has chocolate milk.

I think you know which one wins.

"But, mom, you know what my least favorite thing about hot lunch is?"

"What?"

"The foam plates."

He then starts shuttering while he describes the foam plates they serve lunch on, and the sound the plates make as they slide against each other. He clearly wants to peel his skin off just talking about it. He even dry heaved a little bit.

See, Owen, but this is why you keep pinging on aspergers scales.

"Do you want to know the worst kind of foam?"

"Absolutely."

"Star foam.  Star foam is the worst and don't ever bring it in this house."