Lori Borgman: Excuse me, but your fingers have gas

Lori Borgman, Tribune News Service on Sep 1, 2026

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Next to Monopoly and Battleship, Get Grandma is one of the family’s favorite games. No rules, no limits, play as often as you wish, whenever and wherever you wish.

Years ago, both sons-in-laws began jumping out of closets when they realized I had a strong startle reflex and often screamed loud enough to pierce two time zones when surprised.

Grandbabies arrived in rapid succession and broadened the game by hiding on the washer and dryer behind bi-fold doors, lunging from behind the sofa, the shrubs, or the kitchen island.

It became the grandma version of the old “Dick and Jane” books. See Grandma jump. See Grandma scream. See Grandma run. Run, Grandma, run.

I am one of those fortunate people who can so focus on a task that I tune out everything around me. This gift has preserved my sanity, or what’s left of it.

When the entire family gathered for a long weekend in Tennessee, I was savoring the solitude of a morning walk behind the property and heard a bear roar. I screamed and flew up three flights of stairs on the back of the house, to discover a son-in-law on the top deck laughing.

The newest version of Get Grandma involves knuckle cracking. Three seemingly sweet, adorable school-age girls are expert knuckle crackers.

They were demonstrating their talents when I said, “Did you girls know that popping sound happens because the fluid in your joints make gas bubbles that pop? That’s right, girls, your fingers have gas.”

I had them now. For all of two seconds. They giggled and resumed knuckle cracking. I resumed my work in the kitchen amid knuckle-cracking that sounded like fireworks in slo-mo.

“That’s kid stuff,” I finally said. “Grandpa can crack his knees!”

They cringed, squealed and recoiled. I smiled.

Then the youngest one quietly said, “Did you know I can crack my nose?” She positioned her soft little hand over her soft button nose and flipped it from side to side while clicking her tongue. Her timing was so superb it looked like the real deal. Snap, crackle, pop—Rice Krispies without the milk.

“Your nose could stick that way,” I said.

She was unmoved. Soon they were all snapping, cracking and popping knuckles and noses.

A box arrived the other day with packing inside and I am now prepared to fight back — bubble wrap.

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