The moment I woke up Tuesday, May 9, I groggily dialed my house and yelled "Happy Mother's Day!" to my mom. "Thanks, but it's a little early," she replied.

Utterly stymied, I asked her what she was talking about. It turns out Mother's Day is always on Sunday-who knew? I had been confused, I realized, because I assumed the event I was assigned to cover, "The Stories Mothers Tell their Daughters, The Stories Their Daughters Hear," was being held that afternoon for a reason. After stammering out an apology, I got ready to hear some stories.

I arrived at the Women's Studies Research Center early as women of all ages slowly filled the lobby, chatting away about everything from strawberries and coffee to the beautiful photographs hanging on the walls taken by Emily Corbat?, a visiting scholar at the Center. For the first time in a long time, I was acutely aware of my identity as a woman. I felt strongly connected to all the females in the room. Maybe because there were only a couple men and it would be hard not to feel a bond with all the women, or maybe there was a magical pre-Mother's Day vibe in the air. Either way, I felt proud of my gender, and hoped that when I hit my 80s, I would still be jaunting out to local lectures.

The Center's fifth annual Mother's Day event, in which three women shared different literary experiences with their mothers, drew a large crowd. All three women-Ruth Nemzoff, Penina Adelman and Marcie Tyre-are residential scholars at the center.

"What is the legacy of strength and insight that we've gained from our mothers?" asked Nemzoff, opening the event.

She told a recent story in which, while sorting through papers in her mother-in-law's attic, she discovered letters that her own mother had mailed to her during her years at Barnard College in the 1950s and '60s. She read from one she received during her freshman year in 1958, which began, "My dear little pet. The mailman has been here, and there are no letters yet." In January 1960, during Nemzoff's "sophomore slump" in which she was feeling depressed after losing a student election, she received another letter which she read, "My darling little pet. It was wonderful having you home, but we're very concerned about you," The audience gave a hearty laugh after Nemzoff read a piece of her mother's advice: "As for clothes, I feel that Barnard is very relaxed. . I suggest the blue dress for eating at Aunties, and the red one with the jacket for the theater."

After reading several more letters, Nemzoff explained how much of an impact they had on her later in life, and how even though she didn't realize it then, they influenced her actions. I felt a twang of guilt for not calling my mother more often-after all, she was the woman who made me, well, me. Then I realized I already call her about twice a day; any more and she'd start to send me letters, or, more likely, e-mails, begging me to leave her alone. Still, Nemzoff reminded me just how important a mother's wisdom is.

"I noticed how she set the rules for the game, and she held me to them. I noticed how she stated her ideas, but then said it's okay to make your own decision," Nemzoff said. "I was stunned by her ability to tackle difficult issues."

Even more impressive was that her mother never went to college.

"My mother, being a girl, didn't go to college in those days. So how did she learn to write this way? I was stunned at how well she could articulate her thoughts," Nemzoff said. She explained how she didn't realize she was going to follow her mother's advice until she was able to look back at the letters and her life in retrospect. "So much of what our mothers gave us is a part of us."

Next, Adelman spoke about a book she wrote with her mother on witchcraft and women after she graduated college.

She explained the book's goal was to examine why mostly women were accused of practicing witchcraft.

"In history, since the very beginning, human beings have always needed scapegoats, and during the middle ages, it was women," Adelman said explaining the premise of her and her mother's book.

As Adelman spoke about collaborating with her mother, I was filled with a strange urge to collaborate with my own mother. Witchcraft has never been a topic we can share, so I would need another. Perhaps we would write something about the importance of never touching anything in a public bathroom without the protective barrier of a paper towel? After all, not all stories that mothers tell their daughters are of epic proportions.

Her portion of the event ended on an unusual note, when one of the token men in the audience claimed she must be a witch if she spoke so eloquently. A collective gasp emerged from the audience. I don't think Adelman knew whether to be pleased or insulted. She thanked him and moved on.

The last presentation was given by Tyre and her mother, Lisa Glaser Tyre. I had noticed the elder Tyre earlier. Clad in a blue skirt suit, tie and wide-brimmed straw hat, I couldn't decide if she was one of those Aber-stylish grandmothers that I hoped to be like when I hit my golden years, or just entering the senility stage. I was relieved to learn she was dressed like an an Austrian school girl. She was eight years old when the story she wrote took place.

Lisa's mother self-published in 1976 her own book, Around the World in 80 Years, which told of her family's life. Lisa's book was about her family's experience fleeing Vienna after Adolf Hitler's Germany seized Austria before World War II. To add to the roster of writers in the family, the younger Tyre even read from her 12-year-old son's autobiography.

"It's impacted me a lot," Marcie said of her mother's story. "It has made me aware that things can change quickly and that when you're riding along on good fortune, one needs to be cautious. In our family, we're always looking over our shoulders. Hitler could be lurking behind a doorway somewhere."

I was mesmerized when the elder Tyre read a chapter from her work, Austrian accent and all. She made me think of my Gram and how much she would have loved a hat like that. And then how much she would have loved to slip a plate full of cookies from the lobby into her purse on her way out. And maybe some strawberries, if she was feeling perky. My eyes threatened to tear and I had the urge to hug every single one of the elderly women in the room.

Before I could act on my impulses, I realized that the three presentations were over, and Nemzoff was talking about the origins of Mother's Day, which I learned was started during the American Civil War by activist Julia Ward Howe in an effort to unite mothers for peace. I wondered if I could pass that nugget of information on to my own mom as my token of appreciation on her holiday, perhaps in the form of a poem. Maybe I would try to combine the works of T.S. Elliot and Dr. Seuss in order to write a poem with deep intellectual value while still rhyming funny words.

On second thought, maybe I was due for a trip to the florist.