Writing with Children

I have heard of many a talented author who had children. Personally, I would advise getting your writing career going either before you have kids, or after they have left the house. It will drastically reduce the odds of you being hauled out of your home in a straitjacket, foaming at the mouth, and screaming how The Shining's Jack Torrance was just misunderstood.
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The four year old got sick at school today, so I had to go get her. This meant that I was now attempting to write while growing an eye  out of the back of my head at the same time. I finally got her interested in Spore, on the computer, only to discover it was time to go pick up her brother.
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 I arrive at school to discover the boy has been a little turkey today, so then I had to be stern daddy and deal with the boy. This of course resulted in a gloomy atmosphere as the Most Misunderstood Boy on the Planet sulked in timeout. I thought I might take advantage of this moody but silent moment to get back to writing, but his sister, The Four Year Old Who Can't Be Reasoned With, decided that it was time to play with her brother whether anybody else wanted her to or not. More yelling and hard feelings ensue, which Dad has to arbitrate, and little writing gets done.
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Finally the combatants are separated and the boy sent to his room for his own protection. Dad returns his attention to his neglected manuscript, just in time to see the four year old run by with an uncapped Sharpie. Disaster is averted, but Dad is now typing "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." Then the boy starts laughing hysterically in his room, and prudence demands Dad investigates. Fortunately it is only a matter of the little goofball spitting and making goofy faces in his little camcorder and playing them back, so no harm and no foul.
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 Now I have totally forgotten what the scene I was writing is even about.
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 I come back out to discover the four year old has built the Leaning Tower of Small Furniture in an  attempt to reach the candy on top of the refrigerator. Another disaster averted. I sit down to reacquaint myself with the scene when the boy starts yodeling about being hungry. Sigh. Make supper for the kids, while wondering if cooking is one of those life skills that can be taught an early age. I'm not even sure what book I'm working on anymore.
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The kids are now chasing each other around the couch and screaming at the top of their lungs. I'm not hearing any tears or invective, so I've surrendered and now just stare at my screen mumbling incoherently.
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Don't do it folks. Have your kids...or write. But both at the same time is a recipe for an aneurysm.