Like, when does it stop being "we're playing spy" and becomes "daddy won't let me come over and play because he says your toaster told google about me". The fac

Like, when does it stop being "we're playing spy" and becomes "daddy won't let me come over and play because he says your toaster told google about me". The face painting in particular (especially the OP's own admissions that its not clear how effective it is) feels like putting on tin-foil hats. If privacy concerns are that great, then the OP has an obligation to explain to his/her kids why they can't go to Disneyland. There are sibling threads that provide some valuable context as to who might actually need this degree of paranoia. Without that context, this feels like a prequel to a story like this https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2019/05/06/my-childhood-in-a-cult https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2019/05/06/my-childhood-i....