The World's Greatest Wallet

Today, after nearly seven years of service, I retired my wallet.

I loved that wallet.

"What do you want for your birthday," Becky asked over the phone.

"A wallet," I replied, gently patting a baby Joseph's back. "Something I can put all my crap in and move between a diaper bag and purse."

"I'll get you a Hobo style one."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but thanks."

The red wallet arrived shortly thereafter. With two clasped pockets and a full hinged center, it was perfect. Perfect in so many ways.

It held my chapsticks, my pressed powder, my gift cards, my cash, my drivers licence, my insurance cards, my credit cards, my sanity.

With it, I felt a sense of regained control in a life that had shrunk to the size of a receiving blanket and exploded in an avalanche of baby chaos. I shoved it into a diaper bag packed with more than a baby might ever need, I tossed it into a nearly empty purse and pretended I was someone other than a new mom, I threw it into the bottom of the stroller, I carried it as a clutch, I wedged it beside my camera.

"I love your wallet!" Sales clerks looked at it with admiration. I'd smile and say thanks, grateful they didn't appear to see the nursing bra straps, the baggy shirts, the sagging jeans. I might not be the height of style, but my wallet was.

Over the years, I thought briefly of replacing it - after the hinges were bent when it got caught behind a car seat - but I couldn't ever find anything I liked as much in my price range. I learned to open it with a slight push to counter act the hinge issues and continued to take it to Disneyland, the aquarium, work, the park, the zoo.

And then, a couple months ago, it started to fall apart.

Literally.

Long strips of the exterior leather shred from the corners. The interior pockets began to gape and tear. I knew it was on its last legs, but was in denial until I opened it and pieces came off in my hand. I emailed Becky to ask her where she'd gotten it. I'd hoped to find a new one, an exact replica.

"Target."

"You're kidding me." All these years I'd assumed she'd bought it at Nordstroms where she'd worked at the time. This must be a record for a Target wallet. And, if I'd known how much I was going to love it, I would have bought a half dozen so I wouldn't be in this position. The position of not being able to find a replica for less than $150.

Yes, I realize $150 isn't a bad price to pay for seven years worth of wallet, but I'm on a budget. A tight budget. So I kept using my beloved wallet and began to look for alternatives to replace it. Nothing was the same. Nothing worked as well.

Finally, with the large pockets beginning their slow decent into decay, I bit the bullet and bought a new wallet. Well, actually, a new wallet for my every day needs, a credit card case for my gift cards and reward cards, and a pencil case for my chapsticks, my pens, and my pressed powder. And all for under $25.

I couldn't even pretend that the purchase of the three small items would equate the splurge of the more expensive style.

And with that, I said good bye to my lovely old wallet. And hello to another era of transitional purse organizers. I hope, someday, I'll find something similar to what I had.

Are you suddenly beginning to analyze me and wonder if perhaps the wallet is representative of the changes in my life? Stop. It's not that.

It was simply the most awesome wallet I've owned and replacing it took me months.

And I'm still not satisfied.

Seriously. Stop analyzing me.