Saturday, the wife took the kid to the Zoo, where they kept running into a kid riding one of those tricycles-on-a-stick. I guess I forgot to tell my wife that [who knew?], the kid had developed an obsession with these things, thanks to a 90-second turn on some other kid's stick-trike at the park on Tuesday. She's a quick study, though, and her advice for defusing the trike-induced screaming became the kid's mantra: "You can tell your problems to the zebra."
Sure enough, on the way out--the zebra's the second animal from the gate--the kid gets out of her stroller, climbs up on the rail, and cries her heart out to the zebra, "ride the bicycle. ride the bicycle."
I figure with the money we're saving on therapy, I can buy a new Bugaboo every six weeks.