The typical man, eschewing as he does any bag or carrying case that could be mistaken for a purse, has a ton of crap in his wallet. Ask most guys to show you his wallet, and he'll pull from his pocket an inches-thick leather folder stuffed with old receipts, grocery store club cards, half-used gift cards, and the other detritus that wallets tend to collect. I'm no different, but recently I've been forced to re-evaluate the giant pile of paper and plastic I lug around in my pants pocket every day.

I should back up a bit and and give a little context, first. For the past several years I've been telling Juliette—at about one-month intervals—that I need a new wallet. My old wallet was too big, and I had never really intended to use it in the first place, it being merely a leftover that I put into service when the smaller front-pocket wallet it came with finally crapped out. Of course, inertia being so powerful, I continued to use that big crappy wallet for years, all the while annoying the bejesus out of my long-suffering wife.

Finally though, that wallet, like its predecessor, started to fall apart at the seams. Several months later, I bit the bullet and bought another one.

Picking out a new wallet, like picking out a new pair of glasses, is always difficult for me. This one is ugly, that one is the wrong color, this one is too big, that one doesn't have enough space in it. I nearly always find myself taking a turn through the wallet section when I'm in a department store, and I usually wind up throwing my hands up in frustration (and causing Juliette to roll her eyes).

This time, I decided to make a move to end this hassle once and for all. I've been eyeing the briefcases at Saddleback Leather for a while now, and it turns out that their wallets come with the same 100-year warranty as their bags. Problem solved! I'll just shell out thirty or forty bucks for one of those—not even that much more than a department store wallet—and never have to get another one ever again.

The new wallet arrived on Monday, and it's very nice looking and feels durable. I'm sure it will age as well as its manufacturer claims. But it did leave me with one problem: the new wallet only holds a fraction of what my old one did. What's more, since the leather is still new and stiff, the pockets haven't yet stretched to the point where they can accommodate even what the manufacturer claims.

Now, I know, this is practically the Platonic ideal of the First World Problem. Clearly, nobody is going to die or even be seriously inconvenienced—not even me—just because I can't carry around fourteen different loyalty cards anymore. But because I am ever-so-slightly eccentric (this is the polite way of saying I am completely obnoxious and a royal pain to live with), the thought of arriving at Boudin Bakery without my Boudin Frequent Buyer Card (and, thus, with no way to redeem my $5 Frequent Buyer Reward) makes me feel a little panicky.

And it's not just the possibility of missing out on discounts. For some reason, my collection of wallet flotsam seems like an extension of myself, as though I am at least in part defined by the stack of crap in my right pocket. It almost feels that by cutting out part of that stack, I'm cutting off part of my body. A small part, admittedly—one that I don't really need and hardly ever use. The appendix, perhaps.

I'm committed to the new wallet, though. This new wallet is going to be like my new best friend, the one that comes along with me on all of my adventures; through thick and through thin, come Hell or high water, my new wallet and I are sticking together.

So, after a long session spent winnowing down the mass of nonsense from my old wallet, this is what I'm left with:

• My driver's license and auto insurance card
• Medical and dental insurance cards
• FSA debit card
• AAA membership card
• Two personal credit cards
• Two personal debit cards
• Business credit card
• Business debit card
• Costco membership card
• Library card
• Season passes to the San Diego Zoo, the Reuben H. Fleet Science Center, and SeaWorld
• A "what to do if your child is missing" info card with a recent picture of Jason
• Four business cards
• A sheet of first-class stamps
• $65

I've abandoned all of the store loyalty cards. I won't be getting any more free popcorn at the movies, but that's OK. I came to terms with the fact that I wasn't actually going to spend the $1.17 left on the Macy's gift card I got for Christmas two years ago. The old receipts were trashed or filed. Or put in the pile of things waiting to be filed. My right pocket is lighter than it's been in years.

But even now, after all that, my wallet is still crowded and I'm still carrying around stuff I don't really need. Have I ever actually gone to the Science Center on the spur of the moment, without being able to grab my pass beforehand? And that second bank account has about $50 in it—when am I ever going to need to take money out of there without going home first?

These questions have been niggling in the back of my mind all week. If history is any guide, I'm sure I'll have them resolved before Jason goes off to college. Probably.

Dear Jason,

As I write this, there are still thirty minutes left in your birthday. Actually, this means that my timing is pretty good, since you were born around 11:30 PM. I'd like to say that was intentional, but that would be a lie, and as I'm always telling you, it's not nice to lie.

It's been a big year for you. You got your first big boy bed in January. You had your first dance recital. You were a "ring bear" at your Auntie's wedding. You got to go to Disneyland for the first time. I wasn't there for that last one because I had to work—sometimes it feels like I miss a lot because of work, but then when I go back and look at the pictures I see that I was actually around for most things. I hope that's true, anyway.

The thing you've most been looking forward to—other than your birthday party, which you've been talking about since October—is your baby sister being born. You talk about it all the time. "I'm going to do that when I'm a big brother," you'll say. Some of your claims are reasonable, like when you say you're going to give your sister kisses and gentle hugs when you're a big brother. Some are less reasonable, like when you say you're going to drive Daddy's car. You're also quite adamant that the name you picked for her—Tinkerbell—is her real name, and you will brook no disagreement. I wonder how long that will stick.

Every day I see you figure out something new—you're growing up faster than I know how to deal with. You already can't wait to be big; I can't help but want you to stay young. Though, I suppose if I'm being honest, I'll be OK with you growing up if it means fewer tantrums. (Maybe in a year I'll be laughing at myself having written that.) Well, I suppose I have to be OK with it either way.

I think a lot about your future, especially about how it'll be for you once your sister arrives. I think you'll be a good brother, but then I think it might be kind of hard for you sometimes, too. I know it was hard for me sometimes—you can ask Uncle Karl about that when you get older, I'm sure he'll have plenty of stories for you. Sometimes when I think about what we're taking away from you by having another baby it makes me sad, but my hope is that in the long run we'll be giving you more than you lose. All I can tell you is that for Mommy and me, having siblings has been one of the best and most important parts of our lives. I hope you feel that way, too.

You're asleep right now, which is good because it's late and you had a big day with Mommy at Legoland. I wasn't there for that, but I will be there when we go to Disneyland this weekend, and I'm really looking forward to seeing how happy you're going to be. You and me, kiddo, we're going to have some good times.

Happy birthday, buddy. I love you.

Soundtrack: "Wavy Glass," by Podington Bear

"Jason, I want to tell you something."

"What?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"I always love you, Jason."

"OK."

"Even when I'm mad."

"OK."

"Sometimes I get upset with you, but I always, always love you. OK? Please don't lick me."

I would have sworn that it was over 90 this weekend, but I guess that old age has turned me into a wimp. Still, despite the heat and the mosquito bites (mosquitos love me; I wish they loved me less), I had a pretty fantastic 4th of July weekend. I ate a lot of food, drank some beer, had some big laughs, and—by way of initiating a friend's new girlfriend into our group—told the Clown Joke for 44 minutes. Not much more I could ask for, really.

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Nikon D40, Nikkor 35mm f/1.8DX
f/5.6, 1/100, ISO 200

This is a pretty typical sight when my friends from college come to town. All that's missing is a case of Coors Light.

We're not the healthiest bunch of people, apparently. At the very least, some of us are definitely pulling down the average.

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Nikon D40, Nikkor 35mm f/1.8 DX
f/1.8, 1/400, ISO 200

Over the course of the weekend, the light around the Big Sur River Inn (my in-laws' business) kept catching my eye. The weather was really nice, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and when you combine that with the tall trees throughout the property, what you get are these shifting pools of bright sunlight in between broad patches of shadow. This one was right outside our room.

Jason wasn't actually supposed to be climbing that rail, of course, but trying to keep him off of any climbable surface (or any unclimbable surface, for that matter) sometimes requires more energy than I have. Plus, you know, it is actually kind of cute.

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Nikon D40, Nikkor 35mm f/1.8 DX
f/1.8, 1/2500, ISO 200

I think there must have been something in the air this weekend. It's not really hard to figure out, of course—a beautiful wedding, towering redwoods, pools of sunlight amid the shadows cast by the trees. Who wouldn't feel a little romantic?

Juliette always says that her older brother and sister-in-law have the best relationship, and, you know, I think she's onto something. I haven't seen many couples that fit together as well as they do. I remember telling them that once and they responded self-deprecatingly, saying something like "Oh, you should see us fight." But, of course, everybody fights with the people close to them sometimes. Not everybody has fun together, and not everybody is affectionate with each other, and not everybody is so obviously in love, especially after multiple decades of marriage. It's really something special, and I always like getting to spend time with them.

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Nikon D40, Nikkor 35mm f/1.8 DX
f/1.8, 1/4000, ISO 200

We were up in Big Sur this past weekend for Juliette's sister's wedding, which, as I'm sure comes as no surprise to anyone who knows the area, was beautiful. I wasn't the photographer for the event, which meant I could relax and enjoy it as a guest instead of having to worry about getting every shot. (In theory, anyway. Jason kept me busy enough that I couldn't really say I "relaxed," but it was fun, nonetheless.)

For the most part, I just tried to stay out of the way of the photographer that they had hired, but I couldn't completely keep myself from taking pictures. After all, I was in the middle of a beautiful Northern California forest surrounded by people I care about.

This one is from the rehearsal, the day before the wedding. Needless to say, things went smoothly and we were all in a pretty good mood.

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Nikon D40, Nikkor 35mm f/1.8 DX
f/1.8, 1/200, ISO 200

I set this picture as my new desktop wallpaper a few hours after I took it. I don't imagine that sounds like much to most of you, as most of the people I know change their wallpaper all the time. I've been using the same neutral background since I got my laptop in 2007, though, and this is the first time I've used a photograph as my wallpaper ever. But I think this might be the best picture I've ever taken, and I want to keep looking at it.

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Nikon D40, Nikkor 35mm f/1.8 DX
f/1.8, 1/100, ISO 200

"Ew, gross! Do you smell those fields?"

"I think it's cauliflower."

"More like butt-flower."

"Ha!"

"I knew that would make you laugh. You laugh at anything with butts in it."