Toddler vs. Trump: The Real Apprentice

By Gwen Moran

On December 16th, I watched the final episode of "The Apprentice," the hit NBC reality show which features a cadre of gorgeous, talented young professionals who schemed and backstabbed their way through a series of corporate-type challenges. These folks have taken time-out from hot-shot careers to battle it out on national television, vying for a chance to be molded by the real estate mogul known as much for his hairstyle as his ubiquitous self-branding.

However, I think that series producers Donald Trump and Mark Burnett (the granddaddy of reality TV and creator of "Survivor") have really missed the boat. If they truly want to find people with nerves of steel - those ready to make million dollar deals, thrive in a high-pressure environment, and stare down the icy Carolyn Kepcher - don't send them to create toys at Mattel or hawk ice cream in the middle of Times Square. No, the real challenge isn't in the heart of New York City -- it's in my heart of my New Jersey suburb.

As the protégés file into our three-bedroom Colonial, they'd be met by the steely gaze of two-year-old Abigail, who can size up an adversary's weaknesses before you can say "SpongeBob SquarePants." They'd need to be nimble in their Manolo Blahniks and Gucci loafers in order to pick their way across oversize Legos and "Dora the Explorer" books, while dodging debris flung from My First Castle with Real Catapult. There, they'd be assigned one of a number of grueling tasks, which may include:

Tame the Toddler Tantrum: Each team is assigned a three-year-old child who hasn't yet napped and has eaten at least five Oreos, a package of gummy bears, and a 12-oz. lemonade just before dinner time. Teams will try to make it through a crowded shopping mall as the sugar crash happens. The first one to reach the parking lot with their wailing charge in tow wins.

Supermarket Surprise: These thriving young entrepreneurs will take their Porsches and BMW roadsters to the local supermarket on a Saturday morning. They'll need to stock up on a week's worth of groceries, finding a way to make both the groceries and three bored children fit in the car. Points are deducted for tying any of the above to the roof of the vehicle.

Sleepless in the Suburbs: For twenty-two nights in a row, contestants will be woken abruptly on an hourly basis to respond to a series of demands, such as "I'm thirsty. Will you get me a glass of water?" "It's too dark! Can you turn on the nightlight?" and "There's a monster under my bed! Make it go away!" Then, they must wake at their normal time and oversee a class picnic with 32 screaming five-year-olds. The one who doesn't fall asleep - or hide, quivering, in a corner -- wins.

There won't be any board room here. Losing contestants will be forced to sit in the time-out chair in the corner of our dining room.

But, my bet is that the contestants won't even make it through the competitions. All it will take is one macaroni and cheese smear on a Chanel suit, a single shopping cart dent in the red sports car or one whiff of a poopy diaper and these so-called warriors will throw in the towel. This is the stuff you don't learn about in business school.

Yes, when all is said and done, "The Apprentice" will be a 39-inch-tall two-year-old, holding a talking Big Bird doll in one hand and a Crayola "Perfect Pink" colored marker in the other.

Better get the Elmo videos ready, Mr. Trump.