Are You Breaking Child Labor Laws if the Kid Really, Really Wanted to be a Maid? Or Cook? Or Personal Assistant?

I'm sure if you've been coming here for more than a week, you're semi-familiar with Mollie. On the blog, she's kind of my hard ass heckler, although she recently referred to herself rather begrudgingly as my sidekick, which I think might be my life's single greatest accomplishment.
She was all, "Hey, I just realized something. Never in my fucking life did I think I would be someone's sidekick, but I've turned into yours."
I understand that might not be as funny to you as it is to me, but if you knew Mollie, you'd know what a hilarious wise ass she is and then you'd laugh, too. Also, if she's my sidekick, I think that kind of means I am a super hero, right? I mean, I do think I have some super powers, like the crafty ones I used to rook my darling husband into marrying me, an unbalanced, quirky, genius-in-my-own-mind pain in the ass. Check Mate, Super Man!
Anyways, back to the subject, my super sidekick Mollie. Well, in real life, I'm more like her sidekick. She's responsible for my rather addictive vices of scrapbooking and couponing. Also, she's also my go-to baby-sitter. I mean, with her four kids already there, what's two more? At least that's what she always says when I ask. So, as I said, here in the not-so-bloggy world, I'm really her sidekick.
Now, I'm sure you are wondering why I'm just randomly divulging all this Mollie information. Well, it is so when you read this sentence, the one where I tell you that 2 of her kids are staying at our house for four days while she and her man party it up in Vegas, you won't think I'm just randomly watching my blog friends' children. I mean, what a disaster it would be if all 7 of my readers thought I'd generously provide childcare while they're off on some brilliant holiday.
As with every time I keep Mollie's kids, I didn't get her oldest, Hannah, because she apparently wants to use the time her folks are away to spend with other pre-teenage girls. Total bullshit, I say, since she's like a tidy maid and dotting little mother all in one. But, the injustice of not getting Hannah aside, I still like it when any of her other kids come out since my boys adore them so. Just imagine Beattle Mania or the likes of any other screaming, shaking fans and you'll know what I mean.
Because Mollie doesn't trust me with all three youngest of her tribe, she doles them out to me one or two at a time. When she and her man Ronnie went to Vegas last September, I got their four-year-old, Carson. He and Ridge were born just a few weeks apart and are in the same class in Rainbow Lane. They'll battle it out like a bloody Iraqi sectarian clash and then cry like they haven't seen each other in 6 months when it is time to part.
Wyatt, her five-year-old, was sad he didn't get to come to Aunt Shonda's last time. He is, after all, a child after my heart. When he was about 3, he copped a feel and then I taught him to refer to himself, a redhead, as a ginger, just as I call myself, and we've been loving it up ever since. So, on this trip, he got to come out, as did his six-year-old sister Adie.
In all honesty, I was a bit nervous about Adie's trip. After all, our house might as well be called Testosteroneville or Tallywhacker City. In other words, it's pretty boy centric. I just worried that she'd be bored out of her mind or smothered by the three little males that would be nipping at her heels at all times. With a brother who's 15 months younger than her and another who's 30 months younger, Mollie ensured me she'd be fine.
My children were already asleep when Ronnie dropped Adie and Wyatt off last night. After reading to the two of them for no longer than three minutes, they were both sawing logs, too, and I wasn't far behind.
Rolan rises each morning with the sun, sometimes even a few minutes before. Not long after I heard him stirring at the ass crack of dawn, sounds of toys clanking and flying were echoing out of Ridge's room. Visions of toys boxes being dumped onto the floor and into piles of mayhem ran through my barely lucid mind.
As the noise continued, I pulled my dragging ass from bed to patrol the party. Well, it turns out that it wasn't a party at all. With no conscious adult for the first 15 minutes of their day, Adie decided to play Mommy, giving the boys direction while she organized their toys.
I'm not fucking exaggerating here. She ORGANIZED the toys.
Immediately, possible games for the remained of her stay darted through my scheming mind. Tax season is upon us. Maybe Adie would like to play Accountant. I think she'd really excel at Laundry Service and Lunch Lady as well.
Now, I know all you do-gooders are cringing at all this possible child exploitation, but don't you judge me. I promise, it was all her idea.