Television has always loved its spin-offs: Grey's Anatomy spawned Private Practice. Cheers made Frasier possible. Happy Days led to Joanie Loves Chachi. (Ah, where have you gone Scott Baio? You can come be Charles in Charge at my house any day... Sorry, I was having a senior moment – as in 12th-grader. Back to business.)

For producers looking for a new show come Fall, might I suggest a spin-off of Wife Swap – the popular program in which families switch mothers/spouses for a week. This new offering could involve an exchange between ordinary couples and celebrity couples.

Wait a minute. Let's make it even more unique. Instead of trading spouses, what if we call it Celebrity Kid Swap and exchange children? (My apologies to all those guys who were ready to grin and bear it by taking Heidi Klum off Seal's hands for a week.)

Not convinced that it would make intriguing television? Let's fantasize for a moment or two ... This is what I could see happening if Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes took my 10-year-old, Zachary, for a week while my husband and I played caretaker to Suri.

A limo arrives to pick up Zachary and drop off Suri. The driver notes that Mr. Cruise has requested all ADHD medication be left at home. My husband and I exchange knowing looks but comply. Suri crawls out of the car and hands me her Louis Vuitton shoes, telling me they make her toes ouchy.

Having read somewhere that she likes to blow bubbles, I suggest that we go in the backyard to get acquainted. Suri daintily plunks her behind on the front step, examines her pearly-pink toenails, and says sweetly, "I wait here while you change and do face."

I convince her that my sweat suit and chapstick-only mouth are fine for relaxing in the backyard. I should have listened to the kid.

Magazines the next day feature Suri, looking like an angel dancing through heaven in a sea of bubbles. I, on the other hand, am shown in two flattering pictures – one with my butt pointed directly at the camera as I pick up the bubble wand Suri dropped and another that looks something like the female version of Nick Nolte's DUI mug shot. The headline reads: "What Will Become of Suri After a Week with This Woman?"

Back at the Cruise Ranch, Tom wows Zachary with his Top Gun memorabilia. Katie gives him a tour of the house but gets called away for a moment by her assistant. She comes back to find Zachary pretending to be Maverick and trying to launch himself into flight by jumping up and down on a $50,000 Italian leather sofa.

They retreat to the kitchen for Tom's famous pasta carbonara and some rounds of Yahtzee (guess Katie really was telling the truth in her Glamour magazine interview). When bedtime is announced, Zachary doesn't want to go and promptly decides to hide. The Cruises spend 20 minutes searching rooms before enlisting the help of their security guard. He promptly looks at footage from the closed-circuit television cameras positioned around the house and discovers Zachary in the Paul Newman Memorial Billiards Room using the cue stick as a light saber and trying to get the balls to bounce.

Katie decides that reading a bedtime story would be a good idea. Zachary doesn't like any of Suri's "baby" books. No fear, Tom has the answer. He grabs a book from his L. Ron Hubbard library. Zachary is asleep in five minutes.

That was just the first 24 hours. (By the way, I picture Katie secretly sending the driver back to our house on Day 3 to pick up the bottle of Concerta.) Kind of fun, huh? Let's do another. What if this time we did an exchange with the Brangelina gang?

Before Angie will let the kids come in, I have to sign a release saying that I will allow a photographer to accompany us throughout the week and that I forfeit all claims to these pictures. I'm told a major magazine already wants them, and the money will be given to charity. Fine.

Like Noah's Ark, the six kids file in two by two, older ones holding younger. They decide they'd like to play tag for a bit but soon get tired. I let them look around my son's room for toys, but they don't last long there either. I ask what they would like to do. They suggest a humanitarian mission. I suggest Candyland. We play for a half hour before Pax complains he's hungry.

Having heard Brad's comment on Oscar night that his kids were home "throwing spaghetti at the wall," I decide maybe we should go to McDonald's. The kids look at me rather disappointed. "Couldn't we order Indian food?" asks Maddox. "Or maybe some Thai?" suggests Zahara. The brood argues amongst themselves for a bit until they reach a consensus that some French food would be nice. Now being that the only "French" thing my own son knows is fries, I wouldn't have the faintest idea where to find such a restaurant or what to order. Would Mexican do instead? They agree. We drive to Taco Bell.

It takes me 10 minutes to try to distribute the order. I scrape the onions off of Pax's enchilada while balancing a crying Vivienne on my hip. My husband does a quick headcount while giving Knox a bottle, and we discover we're missing Shiloh. Luckily, the every-present photographer spots her by the condiment area, where she is pulling napkin after napkin from the dispenser. Thinking she is just playing, I tell her to leave some for others. She shrugs, and five minutes into the meal I discover that I should have let her bring 50 more. The kids finish their meals while I still have three-fourths of mine left. They decide to entertain themselves by launching hot sauce into the air by stomping on the little packets with their shoes. I toss the rest of my burrito and rush them to the car. (Now I know how Angelina stays so thin.)

Meanwhile, Brad calls asking if I had packed Zachary's passport. I say that he doesn't have one. Mr. Pitt pulls a few strings, and soon my child sees more of the world in seven days than I have seen in my life. Angelina calls the photographer from China on Day 6 and tells him to be sure he has a lot of film for the big reunion tomorrow. While the Pitt-Jolie kids were a whole lot of high-energy fun, I am sincerely ready to go back to being a one-child household.

I answer the doorbell on Day 7 to find my jet-lagged son wearing a beret and a kilt – souvenirs from his travels, I'm told. Behind him are a 5-year-old boy and a 2-year-old girl. I ask Zachary who his friends are. He replies, "Those aren't my friends. Those are my new siblings! I got them in other countries too!" In case I was just dreaming, Angelina lets the photographer take some extra pictures that I can keep to document meeting my adopted children. I ask her if she has Scott Baio's number. Seems I really am going to be in need of some household help.

OK, maybe I'm letting this whole Celebrity Kid Swap idea get out of hand, but you have to admit, it is hard sometimes in Hollywood to know where fantasy ends and reality begins.