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RABBITING ON ABOUT EASTER

My children had just returned from the usual Easter egg hunt along the banks of a local canal where they had disovered miniature cream eggs in the grass and pretended that fairies had deposited them amongst the wild spring flowers. They knew that the eggs had been put there by me but it was still an enjoyable experience for all concerned.

"Mum? Why does it always move around?" my seven year old son enquired as I battled with the washing-up, later that afternoon. Soap operas and kitchen sink dramas are almost an everyday occurrence in our house, dishes or not.

"What?"

"Easter," He mumbled, through a thick, chocolate moustache.

Does anyone know why it moves around? I deliberated, as I searched my memory banks for a meaningful explanation. Thank goodness Christmas is always on the same day each year, although once every two years or not at all would be more preferable from a busy mother's point of view. This kitchen-sink speculation as I call it has become my specialty since having a family of four. From that very spot I philosophize and devise ambitious schemes to change the world although I never seem to remember any of them once I've left the kitchen.

"Easter moves around because of something to do with the church calendar," I muttered as I squirted more suds into the sink to remove tiny chocolate fingerprints from the worktop. I wasn't quite certain that my statement was entirely correct. I could do a bit of research later, I mused, seeing my son was perfectly happy with my answer. But then along came the next question - or two to be precise.

"Why is it called GOOD Friday when Jesus was crucified? It wasn't very good for him was it?"

I couldn't contain my amusement at his logical observation which might even be considered blasphemous in some circles. "Stop asking all these questions or I won't buy you any more eggs or chocolate bunnies," I scolded him light-heartedly.

Several Easter bunnies I'd bought and had expertly secreted away had already been discovered only to be deliciously decapitated by some chocolate-eating fiend who wished to remain anonymous. And this year my devious bunch of kids had even managed to carefully remove the chocolate eggs and re-wrap the foil paper around the plastic moulds so they still appeared intact in their cardboard boxes on top of the kitchen dresser.

"What do rabbits and eggs have to do with the crucifixion anyway?" an irritating little voice piped up again.

"I don't know... I really don't - they have more

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