Don't mess with my kid

I need to vent about a couple of things

First off, there's this website weeworld.  It doesn't have anything to do with the Wii, it shouldn't have anything to do with my kid.  All the cool kids in school are on it, even though you have to be 13 to register and they are not.  They are 9.  This site is like a pedophile's playground.  All the avatars look like little badass, trashy South Park characters and they can be accessorized with sodas, skateboards, mustaches, bikinis...dear gawd, it's awful.  And the kids can chat with each other or leave messages on each other's walls.  All they're talking about is who's dating whom, who's cheating on whom (cheating...seriously...did I mention they're freaking NINE??...what kind of "cheating" can really be going on here?!).  Anyway, I am wicked pissed about this site and that there are 9 year olds on it.  I called a parent about it. She thanked me for the heads up.  I felt like I had done a good thing.  I would call another parent of a particularly active seeming girl who "just wants a boyfriend with long hair and skinny jeans who isn't afraid to kiss her anywhere."  Now I'm sure she means the school cafeteria or the fucking playground equipment, but that can be read in an entirely different way.  Anyway, I was going to call this little chippie's mom, but I can't find her phone number.  My 9 year old is thrilled that I can't find it, I suspect he's hiding the school directory from me in fact.  He doesn't want to be ostracized because his mom is going to blow the whistle on potentially super-dangerous internet activity among his peers.  I get it, I really do, but I can't let this go.  I can't in good conscience know about this and let it continue without raising the alarm to other parents.  If they choose to let their little darlings continue to play on the site after I bring it to their attention...well, that's their problem.  My work will be done.

Alright, secondly...there are neighborhood kids who think it great sport to huck soccer balls at my kids when they're riding past on their bikes.  They follow this activity by chasing after them with lacrosse sticks.  Not acceptable!  I have no problem riding my bike over to them and telling them to knock it the hell off and if I hear reports of this behavior in the future I WILL tell their parents and they will NOT be happy about it.  This also mortifies the 9 year old, but I can't let this shit continue either.  Now, I'm not saying that my kids have to be totally sheltered from the outside world.  I'm not one of those parents that won't let the kids leave the house without a helmet and full padding.  I can't stand those parents actually.  Think they're idiots.  Mainly because their kids are the ones swinging goddamn lacrosse sticks at mine, with helmets on.  These parents tell my kids they can't play at their house because they aren't wearing enough protective gear.  Well, clearly, to play around their little hellchildren, they need it.  Never fucking mind. 

Now, I don't normally go off the spool about crazyass kid behavior.  Got into a dirt clog fight at the cemetery, did you?  Hit in the eye you say?  Eh, that's the breaks kid.  There's a hobo living in the woods next to the park?  You're positive?  Stay out of the freakin' woods.  You want to ride your bike to the convenience store on the corner to get candy?  Fine, just let me know the moment you get back into the neighborhood...and let me take your picture first so I have something current to show the cops when you get abducted.  My kids pretty much have more freedom than most other kids in our Pleasant Valley, Stepford-like neighborhood, but when they get tormented (repeatedly) by these little bastards...now we got a problem.  I do not hesistate to put the fear of god into these children; I don't care if they are 9 or 10 and as tall as me (I blame that on the steroids in their food).  One of these days they're going to push me far enough and I WILL contact their parents.  That's going to be one hell of a day.

And that is my momentary rant about parenting.