Am I the only one in America who is wondering how The Oxford English Dictionary, Inc. hasn’t sued The Real Housewives franchise? Real? Ha! The nerve of them, using that term so loosely!
Don’t get me wrong, the Miami edition of Housewives had me hooked. Speaking of the O.E.D, the “real” blonde’s butchering of the English language (not to mention her surgeon’s butchering of her boob job) had me in stitches, pardon the pun. For example, to boast how well connected she was, she said that she had relations all over town. The funniest? Not one person in South Florida caught the Freudian slip. Now that’s entertainment.
Gaudy attire and shit-for-brains aside, the fakest part of Real is its casting. With 1 in 100 families regularly being told they have been blessed with autism, I want to know where THOSE housewives are hiding. P.S. If you work for casting and are reading this, I am hiding at Target.
I am serious! Bravo execs have clearly overlooked a niche market of viewers who would be absolutely glued to…wait. Just what part of an autism mom’s life would be considered worthy of one’s boob tube? Hmmm. Well there are all the galas we moms are required to attend, and the catfights over which one of us is hotter or how much money we’re rolling in, but that drama just seems a bit overplayed. I propose a fresh approach. How about instead of focusing an entire episode on one housewife’s forgetting to pick up her (typical, to boot) child at his unnecessary pricey private school, let’s try this:
Fabulous Real Housewife Kristi is dropping off her atypical son J.R. at his necessary private school. The boy sits quietly in his seat until Kristi decides she can’t leave well enough alone. A conversation ensues…
Kristi: J.R., I know you aren’t that geeked about having to go to school today, but I have a big surprise for you!
J.R.: A surprise? What surprise?
Kristi: We’re going to grandma and grandpa’s house tonight!
Suddenly, J.R. wigs out. Cue kicking, screaming, crying, the pulling off of neatly tucked in clothing, and the dreaded clicking sound of a child unstrapping his car seat while the vehicle is still in motion.
Kristi: What is wrong????? You love going to grandma and grandpa’s! Now strap yourself back in before your teachers threaten to call Child Protective Services on me (again)!
J.R.: Not tonight. Not Tonight. NOT TONIGHT!!!!!!!!!
Kristi: Um, okay J.R. Not tonight . Got it.
J.R.: Today. I want to see grandpa TODAY! ToDAYYYYYYYYYY!
Kristi: Okay bud. We will go today. I promise.
Kristi lets J.R. out and pulls away from the car loop in tears. For all the progress her son has made, he still can’t understand that “tonight” happens today.
Not impressed? But wait I’ve got a ton more material! Want to hear the one about J.R. screaming “YOU’RE OUT OF YOUR SEAT, MISTER!” (in his teacher’s Afrikaans accent) as I introduced him to another mom who wasn’t aware of his autism? Good times, really. Oh wait I know, how about the emergency midnight surgery my husband and I performed on our son last week? Now that’s a story. Upon entering his room to check on him (oh who am I kidding, he was in our bed) we could smell that he was dreaming about going to the potty, sans potty. With a flashlight and box of baby wipes we successfully removed the culprit without J.R. as much rolling over.
In a last ditch effort to coax you in to a full on email campaign nominating Kristi Vannatta for the next Real Housewives I give you …. “Mrs. Monster”. Roll em!:
J.R. and younger sibling Jackson are playing “hide from the monster” under their favorite toy, Kristi’s college bed comforter. Enter Kristi:
Jackson: J.R., get the monster’s attention.
J.R.: Oh monster, oh monster, where are you monster?
Kristi: Here I am boys, and you’re both gonna GET IT!
J.R.: Oh Mr. Monster, please don’t eat us!
Kristi: Mr. Monster? Do I look like a Mister to you, misters? I’m MRS. MONSTER, and don’t your forget it! EVER! Now you’re both really going to get it……..arrrrrrrrghhhhhhhh!
J.R.: Jack, let’s get out of here! Mrs. Monster is ANGRY!
Fast forward. J.R. has not stopped calling me Mrs. Monster since that day. To the tune of Yes, Mommy Dearest, he picks the most inconvenient times to share my moniker with perfect strangers. Classic!
Well that’s about all the material I have to submit. Then again, there is a new week approaching.
Speaking of dailies, I have to admit that what I find most appealing about reality television in general is the editing process. Just who decides what goes in to each show? I realize that tons of stuff is staged, shit how else did the Miami series end up focusing on in-home cooking parties? With all the fun South Florida has to offer (from what I hear) … those girls couldn’t find anything else better to do? I digress.
My point is that (and I hope my agent is listening closely) I would want Real ‘s token autism mom to be portrayed wholly. Okay if you are reading this blog out loud to a friend please tell her I didn’t write H-O-L-Y. I wouldn’t want lightning to strike me down. I mean I want the FULL picture. The tears and the frustration that come along with raising a child with autism? Too obvious. That would be like prefacing the existing show with the disclaimer- all these women are living way above their means and think none of us can see that. If it were me (am I being too obvious that I just want my payday?) I would want to be portrayed in 3D. Sidebar: I SWEAR I am not making this up- my ipad just respelled portrayed as betrayed. Funny!
More specific you say? I have a very full life and I hope other moms in my shoes feel the same. I have beautiful kids, a rare, stay put husband, and the most amazing friends in the world. And it’s those short moments when J.R. is really with me that make my entire month. So sure that I will be cast and end up being editing down to a bawling mess, I just wanted to set the record straight.
And this isn’t all about me, (or is it?) I promise. I am just one example of an autism mom who is trying not to allow the disorder to define her. (FYI I hate the term autism mom but I use if for lack of a better one. It reminds me of Nancy Grace’s annoying use of tot mom when referring to Casey Anthony. Eww.) And just so you know, we have to work a whole hell of a lot harder than typical moms just to make it through the day. Whoops, I mean through breakfast. For that matter it takes a village just to bring me to the level of looking like dog crap. Autism moms complain less, and appreciate more. Our (learned) sense of compassion is unmatched. Am I suggesting autism moms are somehow better moms than typical ones? Nope. Better at hosting Mother’s Day brunch while her kids hang from the chandeliers? You bet. Why? Because we never, ever stop trying. Never. Ever.
Speaking of unmatched, I just realized that my nude ostrich peep toes are a different shade as my nude ostrich clutch and I am already late for a lunch date. Shameful- must fix! Hey, I didn’t say we “autism” moms lacked style.
CUT! NOW THAT’S FIT TO PRINT.