Mommy Noire Archives – Herina Ayot

Mommy Noire

A Game Every Child Should Play

“Chess is in many ways like life itself. It’s all con­densed in a play­ful man­ner in a game for­mat and it’s extreme­ly fas­ci­nat­ing because, first of all, I’m in con­trol of my own des­tiny, I’m in charge. You have to be respon­si­ble for your actions, you make a move, you had bet­ter think ahead about what’s going to hap­pen, not after it hap­pens, because then it’s too late.” Read more at http://mommynoire.com/15983/game-every-child-should-pla/#qHuZ4wvU27I76afM.99

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Are My Children Racist?

The idea of race is a fig­ment of our imag­i­na­tion. Sci­en­tists rec­og­nize it as a social con­struc­tion rather than a bio­log­i­cal one, yet few peo­ple ques­tion its exis­tence. Like choco­late, peo­ple range in hue from shades of dark choco­late, to milk choco­late, to white choco­late, but any choco­late lover appre­ci­ates them all. God set us in var­i­ous parts of the world where the sun’s rays shine a lit­tle dif­fer­ent­ly but are glo­ri­ous nonethe­less, and then he appro­pri­at­ed our skin tones to accom­mo­date such. Race des­ig­na­tions are mere­ly a way to divide an oth­er­wise undi­vid­ed human race, so you can imag­ine my shock and dis­ap­proval when I found out my chil­dren are racist.     Read more at http://mommynoire.com/9468/9468/#xsXYC2hhqysAmdkF.99

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Courtroom Tug-of-War

I’ve lived two lives. The for­mer was one rid­dled with despair, wor­ry and con­stant frus­tra­tion. The begin­ning of adult­hood for me was a bite much big­ger than I could chew. Just 22 years old, a new moth­er of twins fin­ish­ing a BA at NYU, I found myself in the mid­dle of a cus­tody bat­tle with the father of my chil­dren. It was the sin­gle worst year of my life count­ed against oth­er years: my father’s bat­tle with can­cer, his sub­se­quent death, bouts of unem­ploy­ment and roman­tic rela­tion­ships gone sour. In that year, thoughts of sui­cide were ram­pant. I for­got to eat and my weight dwin­dled down to 90 pounds. My clothes draped over my bone-thin frame like I was play­ing dress up in my mother’s clos­et. Read more at MommyNoire.com

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