ROBIN CHATS WITH LATER DAD SCOTT ELLIS

AGE: 54
CURRENT RELATIONSHIP STATUS: partnered
BIO: Associate Artistic Director Roundabout Theatre Company; Director/Executive Producer of Showtime's cable television series Weeds; Five-time Tony-nominated theatre director
NAMES/AGES OF CHILDREN: 18 month twins, Charlotte and Parker
RESIDENCE - NYC

What made you want to be a dad? I don't think there was ever a time growing up when I didn't think about becoming a dad. I always liked kids....sort of a DNA thing. Of course, being gay, I thought this probably won't happen. I had started a domestic adoption process 10 years ago....open adoption....and stopped it when I met someone because kids were not on his radar. We broke up largely due to that. I didn't want to regret not becoming a father. Because some time had passed, I thought the process of surrogacy would be faster, so I contacted an agency. Plus, I had a little more control. I knew when the babies were coming and could work my schedule around that. I was able to stop work for several months. My priority was to have a healthy child. Having the children be part of me biologically was never a burning desire. I look at them and just think they're my kids.

Did it unfold as you hoped? No. I told the doctor I didn't want twins. He implanted two eggs in the surrogate anticipating only one would take. He guessed wrong. My concern was that my life was too full for two children. Coincidentally, I'm a twin and am close with my brother who is married and has a three year old and lives in London. Now, with my kids, I know things are as they were meant to be, even though two is a handful.

What do you see as the upsides and challenges of being a 50+ dad? I don't think of age at all. Luckily, I've kept in pretty good shape and take care of myself. I'm better prepared than I would have been 20 years ago. Life. Financially. No resentment when it comes to all that parenting requires. I am ready to share my life. I'm dad...age is a non-issue to me.

Any parenting words of wisdom you’d like to share? Two things I've learned very quickly....everyone parents the way they need to parent...there's no right or wrong. I used to be much more judgmental. No more. You do your thing....it works for you, and that's great. The other thing is really really try to take one day at a time. It gets overwhelming if you over think and look ahead.

What’s the best piece of advice anyone has offered you re: parenting? Someone said that you’re gonna get a ton of advice from lots of people. Just listen, and pick what’s right for you. And, be okay with it. Don’t self judge. Go with your instincts. Trust your gut. This has proven true. It’s great to have someone to bat things around with, but I’m also not someone who calls the doctor constantly.

What do you most want to share with your children? We all go back to our own childhood when we become a parent...I came from a divorced home (I was 12 when my parents split) and want to raise my kids with a sense of stability and security, since I didn’t have that.

What has parenthood taught you thus far? No matter who I think my kids are or want them to be, they are who they are. They're both so different, and I can't change them...I can't direct them. I'm used to that, given my work. They're in the director seat. I'm learning to let go, have patience. Not try to push them...but to guide, provide a loving home and good education ......and establish rules, but also accept/embrace who they are and support their journey.

What excites you about being a dad? A lot! The constant discovery. The changes. You get to know their personalities every day. They’re starting to talk, and I’m always amazed re: where they get their language from. It’s fascinating.

Any particular experiences you can’t want to share with your children? Introducing them to theatre for sure. Taking them to a Yankee game would be a highlight. I didn’t travel that much growing up, but would love to share that with them when they’re older. I’m curious to see what they like to do as they grow and will build upon those interests.

How have you found juggling work with parenting? I have a live-in nanny. Once they go to school, we'll revisit the situation. I feel like I have to work so much more to take care of all this...but on the flip side, I don't want to be an absentee dad. I'm working to find that balance. Time management is critical as is having support. I'm surrounded by great friends, etc., and that makes a difference. My dad passed away, but my mom loves the twins!

What would you like to share with others contemplating later in life parenthood or becoming a parent period? If you're contemplating, go for it. I didn't want to have regret. But, you have to accept that there's no perfect time. There's never enough money. We're here one time, pretty quick, so why not do it?!



Note: Scott is one of the subjects of the film LOVE, ETC., which I highly recommend.  He shares his heartfelt road to parenthood in this compelling new documentary. 

Independence -- by Laura Houston

My son Lyle started walking at 10 months. He’s an agile kid. Strong. Fast. Determined. He is physically advanced, and I have known this since I first felt his fluttering and then furious kicks during my pregnancy. His twin brother Wyatt has always been more contemplative, and not as anxious to crawl, walk, roll over or do much other than study things very, very carefully. But something changed at 14 months for Wyatt. He got tired of sitting and looking. He wanted to walk, and he wanted it badly. So he practiced. Obsessively. He took laps around our living room holding on to furniture to steady himself, and he calculated his moves carefully.

When we went to the park, I held Wyatt’s hand and let him walk with me, or I would put him against the fence so he could hold on and walk back and forth over the grass, sticks, bark and uneven terrain. He was thrilled with his developing skill, and it changed his personality, making him more confident, more determined, more joyful. However, as we practiced in the park sometimes the people watching would say to me, “You’ll be sorry once he starts walking, too. It just makes it harder when you have two of them to chase.”

And I would think to myself, “Really? I’m going to be sorry once he gains more independence and becomes a happier baby?” I have never understood how some parents can sacrifice what’s best for the child just to make things easier on them. I’m not talking about safety here. I don’t let my boys play in the kitchen even though they are desperate to get to any sharp, shiny object they can find in the cabinets. But when it comes to things like walking, running, climbing, and rough and tumble play, well, I’m all for it even though I have to referee more and watch more closely. Autonomy for anyone is good.

Since becoming a mother, I have lost a great deal of my independence. I miss being able to walk wherever I want to walk, and to go where I want to go when I want to go there. I mourn it every day when I am packing up the stroller with diapers, wipes, toys, water, snacks, sunscreen and every other accoutrement the boys might need on our journey out. I find the schlepping of baby stuff to be maddening. I hate that it takes me half an hour to get out the door some days just to go on a 15-minute errand. I miss my simple freedom dearly. I want my kids to have what I do not right now.

Parents of older children also dole out this nugget of wisdom to me: “Enjoy it while you can. It goes by so fast. In the blink of an eye. Next thing you know they’ll be in college.” And again I want to say, “Really? Because these past 14 months have lasted forever, and I can’t imagine in going any slower.” It’s true. Being the mother of twins means non-stop movement. Not-stop doing. Non-stop watching, listening….everything. I wouldn’t mind if it flew by sometimes.

That’s not to say I don’t love it. I do. I savor the moments because I know they don’t last. But I don’t want my boys to remain babies. I love watching them grow up and move away from needing me. Lyle won’t let me feed him any more with a spoon. Great. I’m OK with that even though I have prepare his oatmeal with less milk so it’s thick enough to roll into little balls he can pick them up and pop in his mouth. I’m OK with the additional baby proofing I have to do to keep them both safe. They’re growing independence does, indeed, create more work for me right now. But it won’t be more work down the line.

Parenting is hard work. It’s supposed to be. And it’s a sacrifice again and again and again, and I fall willingly into most of the time. I know it won’t last forever. I certainly do not want it to. I enjoy watching the boys learn things that may make my life more complex today if it means it will get easier tomorrow. That’s why every time I see the boys take a step closer to being independent, I see myself as getting closer to it, too. And I breathe just a little easier. Just a little.

Big Love - by Laura

I would like to first apologize to all of the unsuspecting toddlers and their parents who have been traumatized by my son. Whereas it is difficult to explain his behavior above the screams of your child, I want you to know that in no way is my child a bully. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. And you can blame me if it makes you feel better. You see -- it’s my fault he pulls hair, dog piles, and head butts. And as you may not be fully aware, I am going to drop some science on you: most babies do not know how to show affection and love in a gentle manner. I can see from the way Lyle mauls other babies that he is trying to imitate my affections toward him, but that’s very hard to explain to a parent whose wailing child is missing a pigtail.

This is where one-year old Lyle gets it: At night when he can’t sleep, I stroke his hair. He loves it. It settles him down almost immediately, and he makes cooing noises to show his happiness. After a minute his breathing slows, and he drifts off. When he needs reassurance, nothing does it like a scratch on the head and a ruffle of the hair. On the days when he has way too much energy and is tearing around the apartment, I get down on the floor with him, curl up around him and growl and nibble on his ear, which sends him into hysterical giggles. Now no matter what I am doing, if I get on my hands and knees, he comes running in hopes of a doggie pile. And as for head butts, well, those are as close to kisses as he can get. My husband and I have had black eyes, fat lips and one bloody nose as a result of his ersatz smooches.

It makes sense that the child thinks that grabbing another kid’s hair will give pleasure, and that doggie piles are fun, and a firm kiss says, “I like you.” The poor guy thinks he’s doing everyone a favor, and the mayhem that ensues does not parallel his intentions. Last week at music class he stood up and walked over to another girl and grabbed her head with his sticky hands and gave her a “kiss” from behind. Then he collected a handful of hair and tried to remove her sparkly butterfly ponytail holder. Her mother immediately began yelling, but before either one of us could make it to the love birds, the little girl turned around and shoved Lyle as hard as she could, and he went reeling over backwards. The little girl returned to her play, but Lyle lay there on the ground wailing. Dejected. Unloved. Unrequited.

I picked him up and stroked his hair. I kissed him. And I explained to the mom that Lyle just wanted to play. She muttered something about football and bullies, collected her daughter, and left. Needless to say I was completely sad and embarrassed about it. I don’t want my son mauling people, but I don’t want him to lose his enthusiasm for affection, either. I am thinking carefully of how to handle it.

One mother in our music class suggested I google how to handle the situation. That made me laugh. It was a good idea, but part of the fun of parenting is figuring out how to navigate these situations in a good way. In a sensitive way. In a way that is right for my child and for the people around him. I don’t want to be a textbook mother. I want to be an intuitive mother.

So these days I am sitting on the floor a lot, waiting for Lyle’s next declaration of love for his brother. When I hear him give his three shocks of laughter, see him flapping his arms, and doing his drunken speed walk toward his brother’s unsuspecting head, I get there first, and I take Lyle’s hand, open it, and stroke Wyatt’s head and say, “Gentle, gentle, gentle.” I’ll be honest. Lyle doesn’t know what the hell I’m doing. He doesn’t get gentle any more than a Labrador retriever puppy does during his play. But it spares his brother, and it’s better than yelling “no, no, no!”

I don’t want to isolate him from other children. I’ll have to do some talking to their parents. Maybe I can find other parents whose children have big love and who don’t get upset over a few hair pulls, dog piles and head butts. And we’ll just wait this out. Because love is one of those things that is as strong as it is fragile, and I don’t want to teach my son that affection is wrong. I just want to teach him that it should be gentle and kind whenever possible, because too often in life it isn’t.

GUEST BLOG POST: Daddy Will Fix It: Facing Consequences - by Dr. Jenn Berman

When you help your children understand at an early age that they are responsible for the choices they make as well as for the consequences of their actions, you promote a sense of mastery and self-confidence in them.

One of the most difficult tasks for parents is allowing their kids to suffer the consequences of their choices and actions. But in order for children to grow up to become responsible adults, they need to know how to deal with these kinds of consequences. It is a crucial developmental step for them to take.

Mark, a college student, was sent to me by his parents because they were concerned about his pot smoking and poor grades. Mark, who was clearly very bright and got fantastic SAT scores, was completely unmotivated. He attended an expensive private college with a great academic reputation. When I asked him what he planned to do after college he told me he would go to law school.

“How are you going to get into law school?” I asked him. “You are barely passing your classes right now, and law school is highly competitive.”
“My dad has connections. He can buy me a spot in at least three of the top schools,” he told me.

Apparently Mark’s dad had already bought his son’s way into his current school. Up to that point, Mark had never had to face any of the consequences of his actions. If he forgot his homework his mother brought it, if he forgot his lunch the maid brought it, if he forgot to feed his goldfish and it died he was given a new fish. Now mom and dad were still getting him out of trouble, and at the age of nineteen Mark had no life skills, no discipline, and no motivation. Had Mark suffered the consequences of his actions at an earlier age, he would have learned to apply himself. Adversity leads to growth. If you allow your children to suffer the consequences of bad choices, they will learn to make better choices. Protecting kids from those kinds of consequences only retards their ability to develop into responsible adults.

Excerpted from the book The A to Z Guide to Raising Happy, Confident Kids © copyright 2007 by Dr. Jenn Berman. Reprinted with permission from New World Library. www.NewWorldLibrary.com

Dr. Jenn Berman is a Marriage, Family and Child Therapist in private practice in Los Angeles. She is the author of the Los Angeles Times best-selling book The A to Z Guide to Raising Happy Confident Kids which won the Mom’s Choice Award gold medal in parenting. She is also the author of SuperBaby: 12 Ways to Give Your Child a Head Start in the First 3 Years and the co-author of the children’s book Rockin’ Babies. Her “Dr. Jenn” parenting column runs in Los Angeles Family Magazine and elsewhere and won a Parenting Publications of America award. She is also on the Board of Advisors for Parents Magazine. Dr. Jenn has appeared on television including The Oprah Winfrey Show, The Today Show, The Early Show, etc. She currently hosts a call-in advice show on Sirius/XM’s Cosmo Radio. Dr. Jenn has an eco-friendly clothing line for adults and children called Retail Therapy. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and twin daughters. For more information, visit http://www.DoctorJenn.com.

The Age of Motherhood -- by Laura

Last week I turned 45. I have never shied away from stating how I old I am, but on my birthday something happened that made me lie for the first time. I was in Central Park with my 10-month old twins taking a break from my jog when a woman in her 60s approached and ogled the boys as they slept in the stroller.
“Isn’t being a grandmother the best?” she asked.
“I’m actually their mother,” I said. “Not their grandmother.”
She was embarrassed and apologized, but I stopped her and explained it was OK. I have a crown of silver hair; I was disheveled from exercising. It was a natural mistake.
“Well, women are having babies at older ages these days,” she said.
We chatted briefly then she asked the question I knew she would: “So exactly how old are you?”
Before I could think I told her I was 40. Only 40.
On the way home I stopped at the drug store to look at hair color, and when I got to the apartment I went online and ordered $200 worth of skin care products. I also got down on the alphabet mat in the playroom and did 100 sit-ups and then 100 bicycle kicks, which left me barely able to move the next day.
I am embarrassed at being an older mom at times. I feel out of place with orthopedic inserts in my shoes, gray hair, glasses, and a heavier, slower body as I push a twin stroller down the sidewalk among the 20-year old nannies and the fit, fashionable, younger Manhattan mothers. And I am embarrassed that I am embarrassed by it. At my age I should know better. There are so many pluses to being an older mom – far more pluses than minuses.
But the real reason for the discomfort with my age is not just my crepe paper eyelids or the cricks in my back and ankles. It’s the time. If what I said were true, if I were only 40, I would have five more years – five more years of time at my disposal with my sons and husband. My lie wasn’t just a lie. It was a wish. A sincere wish.
While I write this, my father is struggling with declining health. As an older parent himself, he made a conscientious effort to be a fit man. My father learned to rock climb when he was 40. He hiked all over the Rocky Mountains with his children. He played tennis four or five times a week. But in spite of his excellent health and diet, he didn’t get a choice whether or not he got Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s. For several years now, he is not able to participate in his own life, much less mine, and he has never met my boys. Yet if he did meet them, he wouldn’t know them because in spite of his best efforts to stick around and be there for his grandchildren, a horrible disease is scrambling his brain.
Even more sorrowful to me is that my sons won’t get to know the kind, quiet man who taught me the secrets of happiness: dogs, books, tomatoes, and camping. Lyle and Wyatt won’t have the chance to try to keep up with his long stride as he winds his way over the trails to the top of a mountain to watch the sunrise. They won’t hear his steady voice singing a cowboy song as he strums his guitar.
Some of my life’s greatest moments have been spending time with my father as an adult – two grownups together with a shared history and a deep understanding. I love that my father stuck around long enough see who I turned out to be, and he genuinely admires who he sees when he looks at me. I want to look at my children like that through the hallmarks of their lives. But when they are entering adulthood, which I believe is the best part of life, I will be coming to the sunset of mine. Thanks to my advanced maternal age, I may not get to meet the life partners they choose. If they wait as I did, I may not get to meet their children. I may very well miss seeing them achieve the things in life that can make them happy, whole, fulfilled human beings.
The next time someone asks me if I am the boy’s grandmother, I will try to be more grounded. I will tell myself I can live with the liver spots, the lines around my mouth, and the impending bifocals. But what will send me spinning is the thought of missing out on a minute of my boys’ lives. By waiting these extra years to have children, I am afraid I am going to have to lose a few years on the other end. And that kills me. Because this thing called motherhood is a wellspring of happiness, wisdom, pain, ache, joy and longing, and as Lyle and Wyatt grow through life, I don’t want to miss a thing. Not a single, tiny moment lost. The bitter. And the sweet.