Heck, who AM I?

To Lori's beginning-blog question, "Who the Heck are You?"-I say, there are no short answers. Those who know me well--i.e. this critique group--can attest to my lack of short answers.
Who the heck I am as a writer depends on the moment, and can perhaps be explained thusly:

I sit at my keyboard, a cat in my lap, with a tea -or- wine next to the screen, depending on the time of day, writing pb, middle grade, YA or adult, depending on my mood, and my little girl is behind me-literally, right behind me, in my already crowded computer chair, saying "Mama, moooove over!"
My son is usually nearby, laughing at a book or nattering to me about his latest video game conquest-this too depends on which day it is, as he's only allowed to play them on weekends. I'll listen to him, and depending on how long he goes on, my eyes might glaze over.
I'll have either whites or a dark laundry load in the noisy washer, adding to the din in my cold writing space in the basement...and at any time, I can be feeling exhilarated by my perfect word-choice in a piece I'm working on, or (and this occurs more often) I am wondering what in the heck I do this to myself for! Why don't I just sit and watch television or something, and not place this kind of pressure and expectation on my already full days? Depending on my energy level, I can be prolific or downright disconnected.
My writing scene can always be described this way: the people, the cold, the laundry and mess. The noise. It explains my nervous eye twitch and why I'm always talking to myself. But writing is what I depend on to get me through all the rest.

So who the heck am I? The short answer is: It depends.