Three years ago, we instituted our First Annual Pumpkin Par-tay. Admittedly, it was a ruse to get people to help lift the pumpkin but it has grown from there.
Both the size of the pumpkin and the parties.
Since Jamie loves big pumpkins and I love to eat all-things-pumpkin, we decided to make it a pumpkin potluck and ask our guests to bring some pumpkin-inspired dishes.
Now, there are varying degrees of commitment to the cause. Some planned their dishes out several weeks in advance and it showed with delicious offerings such as pumpkin caramels, pumpkin bundt cake, pepita (pumpkin seed) salsa, mini-pumpkin pies, pumpkin chili, pumpkin empanadas (my offering) and more.
Others call the day of the party complaining they can’t find canned pumpkin anywhere and bring brownies. And then a few call a half-hour before and say, “Hey, I misplaced my invite. Is that pumpkin party of yours today?”
Regardless, it always comes together in a delicious and fun way.
Bode took on the important role of tour guide and directed people to our backyard.
Of course, The Pumpkin Man was our local celebrity.
Last year, my bestie Tina busted out with a killer pumpkin hat Jamie made famous on The Marriage Ref.
This year, she gifted him some ultra-cool pumpkin glasses.
To think she almost didn’t make it because she somehow didn’t receive an invite (apologies to any of my other regulars who befell the same fate).
Of course, everyone comes to pose with The Great Pumpkin.
And marvel.
But the real attraction was the official vine-cutting. Many people have asked me how we transport the pumpkin to the weigh-off. We use a forklift but you first need to put lifting straps around it (not an easy process). 
It’s also a good excuse to get a nice butt shot of your husband.
Then, attach the lifting straps to the chain on the forklift.
Then you watch a grown-man pray that the bottom of the pumpkin hasn’t rotted out completely (if you will recall, it cracked a few weeks ago). All was well.
Except for the fact Jamie’s body turned into a pumpkin. Nice legs, dude.
For the second year in a row, our neighbor Andy was the forklift driver.
When it was over, he was heavily perspiring. “Dude, that was the most stressful thing, ever!”
Then they loaded it onto a trailer. And no, I did not approve of Jamie graffiting the back window of my vehicle with that saying.
See that kid in the orange shirt? That’s our neighbor Luke who kept shouting out, “PUMPKIN PINATA” and swinging his baseball bat at the air.
I think he was kidding but his murder would have been no joke.
After that, the kids cut their pumpkin off the vine.
And (let’s count ‘em): SIX guys carried the pumpkin to the front porch.
I mention the number of men because the next morning, Jamie and I (TWO mere mortals) carried it out to the car. By ourselves. With my sore knee.
One of the many sacrifices of a pumpkin widow.
Tune in tomorrow for details of the weigh-off!
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 