Moe is a sensory seeker, and his particular brand of sensory seeking is highly tactile. Yes, he'll stare at lights or make a certain sound over and over, but give him some nice fuzzy fabric to run his fingers over, and he's a happy kid.
Everywhere we go, he's touching something. He runs his hands along the cars in a parking lot or splashes in puddles. He loves shaving cream and pudding. Hand him a cereal bar and he's as likely to squish it between his fingers as he is to eat it. This does not, by the way, translate to Moe eating foods that may have sticky, goopy or otherwise messy textures, but that is a conundrum for another post.
Because of all this touching, Moe is quite a destructive little guy. We call him our Tasmanian Devil. A Whirling Dervish. He's a Toddler Tornado. Hurricane Moe. The San Jose Tsunami (too soon?).
He doesn't mean to be. He's not the kid that sees a tower of blocks and just has to knock it down. He just walks around the house, knocking books off shelves or dumping over buckets of toys or puzzles. He'll pick up a piece of a toy from one room and bring it to another, then just drop it there. I'm forever matching pieces to their toys, often content when they end up in the correct room, let alone actually back with the toys they belong to.
I'm pretty sure this is why I went to Yale.