My family, you see, was coming to our house for Easter. These days my family is in flux. Indeed, the Juniper clan is undergoing rapid expansion as our offspring reach an age of maturation where they have boyfriends and girlfriends (with whom they are naturally reluctant to part). Trouble is, when it comes to get-togethers, we rarely know until the last minute which of the offspring and their assorted allies will be able to attend, given the complexities and vagaries of work and life commitments.

So, when my wife became overwhelmed at work and sent me in her stead to the local food emporium to round up some ham, her take on how much ham I should purchase was somewhat vague. You see! The problem is obviously untethered expansion.

Ah, but when my brother arrived for the party with his wife, three daughters and their boyfriends, he took one look at the two hefty hams I'd procured, and he laughed. Actually, he questioned my sanity ("Are you crazy?"), and then he laughed. This very scene played itself out all over again when my sister and her family arrived. If asked, I'm sure that in this particular debate, both my brother and sister would take the side of gross mismanagement, or utter incompetence.

But, then, they weren't in the grocery store with me when I threw myself at the mercy of one of the kind ladies in the meat department, begging her for help in purchasing an unspecified quantity of ham for an indefinite amount of people -- oh, and with further instructions that we were also desirous of leftovers so my wife could make her famous ham-and-leek soup. The look the (trying-to-be) helpful woman gave me has come to haunt me. Have I mentioned that I left the store with two hefty hams, or what my daughter has sagely determined to be, well, too much ham?

So, we served my family ham for Easter. And boy was it good. I mean, we received raves. Trouble is, when the whole crew had left and the massive cleanup began, we slowly came to the realization that we had ham coming out the ears. Put it this way, if we'd gone with just one of the hams I'd purchased, we'd still have had loads of leftovers.

Ham sandwiches. Leek-and-ham soup. Ham omelet. Ham casserole. Ham and cereal. Cookies and ham. On the third day of ham leftovers, I gave the family a break and cooked up one of their favorites, homemade macaroni and cheese. Our daughter rushed to the table, and was about to heartily dig in, when she glanced at me with apprehension.

"Tell me," she said, suspiciously, "That you didn't put ham in this." Ah, just a little. It was then that she told me how she used to think of chocolate when she contemplated Easter, but now all she associates with Easter is ham.

"Ham," she said, "is the new chocolate."

Well, honey, eat your chocolate, er, ham. Untethered expansion? Gross mismanagement, or utter incompetence? At this point, it's all ham to me.

Andy Juniper can be visited at his Web site, www.strangledeggs.com, or contacted at ajuniper@strangledeggs.com.