Corporal Punishment in Modern Youth (or at Least Restaurants)

I'm always horrified that people bring their children into public - especially restaurants. If they do choose to bring their bundles of joy, they should be required to also bring a choke chain or lots of rope and a gag ball. At a minimum, a tarp is an order. More than this, I'm amazed that parents are oblivious to the headache they are causing the wait staff and other diners.
Recently, I decided to treat myself to a nice lunch and a glass of chardonnay after a rough morning of job searching and errand running. What I got instead was not a rarity, but quite the specimen: two kids of indeterminable sex running wild in the would be solace of the outdoor dining area. They were all over the place. Climbing on unoccupied seats, screaming at the top of their lungs, refusing to sit down and eat. And who can blame them? The two woman who I assumed were their guardians simply let them loose and yelled across the patio now and then for them to not run out into the street.
I know I'm evil and will probably go to hell for this, but at one point, after one of the two monsters bumped my table, thereby spilling some of my wine, I gave it the look. We continued our staring contest as she sheepishly slithered over to her guardian. I imagine there was a complaint lodged against the "mean lady over there" because the guardian suddenly yelled her apologies to me. I gave her a look that I hoped would communicate my unwillingness to forgive and forget. I hope my look said "wrangle your heathens in, asshole."
Sometime after my soup course, the guardians discovered that their precious midgets had used their crayons to color on surfaces not normally approved for such artistic expression.
"Oh, no. Did you use your crayon on the cement? We don't use crayons on the cement. Chalk is different, it can be washed off, but not crayon." The degree of upset was not to my liking. Here these curtain crawlers had ruined what might have been an enjoyable lunch, but now they were tagging? Inappropriate. They needed a hand slap or at least a good tongue wagging. The guardian made it seem as if this sort of behavior was tolerable.
"We have to clean it. It's our responsibility." The guardian disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared with three paper towels.
"These two are only wet with water. This one is wet and has soap and I'll use it to try and clean the crayon off the cement." A few seconds later: "It doesn't look like this is working, does it? I'll have to tell the manager what we've done and run to the store for some WD40. That removes crayon."
I sat back and waited for the entourage to leave so that I could enjoy my last few sips of wine.
The waiter, manager and a dude of unknown occupation came outside to assess the situation. Apparently, the dude of unknown occupation had 600 hours of experience removing graffiti. I wanted to ask him what he did to get himself that training and wondered if the two departed monsters didn't deserve the same punishment.