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've gotten very good at completing all of Moe's puzzles at once. Twelve puzzles are often scattered around the floor, their pieces intermingled. Some hide under the dog bed or bookshelves. As I clean them up each night I imagine I'm in come kind of supermom competition. I'm a favorite in the "advanced clean up: non liquid items" round. Winners are based on time, accuracy and completeness. Obviously, I win.
