I Want My ZOE!!!

#4 is a funny child. I've referred to her as a SheDevil and she kind of is. I will try not to use this phrase as often now that she's getting old enough to understand it. The last thing I need is for her to try to live up to something...
Anyway, she's the only girl, the baby and such a princess. I don't know where she came from, growing up with three older brothers that don't possess a feminine bone among them. And I'm not overly prissy either. (At least I don't think I am.) I've become this creation of my husband that knows more about sports than I care to. I'm like his trick pony.
"Honey...tell 'em what Broxton's ERA was this year!" as he slaps me on the back.
I'm just expected to know these things. If he comes home after coaching a game and asks what I thought of a certain play and I don't know what play he's talking about... Not so good. Not that he gets mad or anything. There's just this total disappointment written across his face that's asking "What exactly were you doing at the game then?"
But back to the point at hand. #4 is her own little breed. And she's figured out how to run the show. We're trying very hard to reprimand her for throwing tantrums when she doesn't get her way (since this occurs a whopping 13.4% of the time). And of course, I'm the bad guy. I'm the one home all day so I'm the one accused of "spoiling" her. Which also means I'm the one in charge of "fixing" her. (Hubby sat me down a few weeks ago, looked me in the eye, and made me PROMISE that it would get better. IT, of course, being raising a girl.)
I'm sort of a yeller by nature and though it's something I'm always trying to do better at, it's worked OK with the boys. Not so much with #4. If I even take my breath in too sharply like I'm getting ready to yell, her little lip puckers and her eyes water. So I'm taking a more "grown up" approach with her.
I sit her down and say, "#4. Look at me. We are not going to whine, OK?"
If she agrees, I get a contrite little, "O-Tay mommy." and a hug.
If not, I get a wailing, "I want my daddy!" as she throws her head back.
I do not give up, I simply hold her a little closer and calmly tell her that her daddy is at work, at which point she moves on down the line.
She asks for #1, then learns he's at school.
She asks for #2, and learns he's also at school.
She asks for #3, who is sitting right next to her during this little fit. When I point this out to her, she pauses somewhat confused, then moves on to Dam-ma.
She works her way through all the Dam-mas and Dam-pas and then gives up when she realizes no one is going to save her from the big bad mommy. It's getting to be quite the little routine, but it works and doesn't involve yelling.
Yesterday, she didn't give up though.
We went through the whole list and just as I was getting ready to let out a sigh of relief when we got to the grandparents, she sprung a new one on me.
"I want my Zoe!!"
"What?" I was dumbfounded. This was a new one. "What did you say?"
Again, an octave higher..."I want my Zoe!"
"The cat?"
Sniffles now as she nods her head.
The cat. She's asking for our cat, Zoe.
She wins. I mean, how can I argue with that? If the cat will make her happy, fine. Let her have the cat.
"OK. Let's go get Zoe." I sigh as I put her down.
"O-Tay mommy." She smiles as she runs in another room to play. She doesn't think twice about the cat. It was all a ploy and she won. She totally beat me...again.