We did. Our child got misplaced.
It was bed time at the Edge for Vitt. His teeth were brushed and pajamas were put on. Dad tucked him in and went to the kitchen to get him a cup of milk.
When Dad returned to the bedroom to give Vitt a cup of milk? He was gone. Disappeared.
Dad started calling Vitt's name and there was no answer. He came back through the living room, heading to the other side. He explained that Vitt had obviously snuck by me and I didn't hear him.
Whatever. I continued to play a card game on the laptop. I hear Dad and Sissy calling Vitt's name on the other side of the house.
Dad comes back through and searches Vitt's room, our room, and the bathroom again.
He comes back past me on the way to the other side muttering under his breath.
Still, I am not alarmed. Both doors are deadbolted and he simply can't get out with people in both living rooms.
Dad comes back around the corner and bellows, "I CAN'T FIND OUR SON!"
I huff because this means I will have to get up. And I do. Get up, that is. And I huff.
I say in a loud authoritative voice all three formal names belonging to my son. I inform him to come out immediately.
He pops up from the floor on the far side of his bed laughing his narrow butt off at his Dad saying..."YOU NOT FIND ME! HA HA HA AH HA AHAHAHAHAHAHAH"
Dad looks at me and I just shrug. What can I say? Kid pulled a good one on Dad.
Later I addressed the tone of voice my husband used with me because the man was a half inch away from a full panic mode. His response?
"All I could think of was he was somewhere hurt and not able to tell me."
In the house.
Around 2,000 square feet.
I worry about that man because this kid is only three. Imagine what sixteen has potential to do.