Last week while on my at-home vacation I decided to drive myself crazy by sorting through 10 years of print photographs.

I needed to deal with three categories of snapshots here. The first bunch –including doubles –made it to albums. The second bunch was divided by year in shoe boxes. The rest of them were still in their envelopes. So sad.

In this digital age, I decided I needed to go through these old photos – which included no fewer that 24 shots of our baby daughter wearing bunny ears for Halloween. I needed to sort, edit, dump, organize and certainly consider scanning.

I have yet to complete the sorting part, although I did some dumping. I’m down to 23 bunny ear shots.

Seriously, I know a lot of people in this situation. I wanted out.

Our family photos are now digital and can be stored on the computer, but the first few years of our daughter’s life were well documented on film. We photographed her sleeping. We photographed her yawning. We photographed her laughing, eating, staring out the window. We were ridiculous.

And there were many photos that did not star our daughter, including some eventually taken by her. Her favorite subjects included the dog, the cats, her stuffed animals. There’s even one of her father’s sneakers. I kid you not.

From the get-go, I pulled my favorites and enlarged and framed them, distributing some as gifts and storing copies and/or negatives in a safe place. The rest mostly went into boxes.

A scrapbooker, I am not.

In her new book “House of Havoc,” nationally syndicated home columnist Marni Jameson devoted a chapter to this topic. She described an enormous blue bin she called the “photo coffin” filled with family photographs she needed to deal with.

“The news that digitizing photos provides better protection and easier management shocked me out of my complacencyI got the message: Putting your past into the present is the future,” she wrote.

So she and her kids sorted photos and then turned them over to a company that converts analog pictures into digital format.

I’m not even close to doing anything like that. I’m still counting bunny ears.

For several days, I spread out photographs on our dining room table as well as a side table I set up. I even used the dining room chairs for stacks, trying to make sense of it all.

Not knowing how I was going to tackle any of this, I committed myself to putting them into chronological order; the thumbnail prints helped, but I also used such things as haircuts, clothing, houseguests and missing teeth (the daughter’s, not mine) as my guides.

“Don’t mess up my piles,” I told anyone who entered the dining room.

By midweek, I was no longer enjoying the Kodak moments. I was weary of the color pink. I was losing track of what year we were at so-and-so’s house for the Fourth of July and wondered if it really even mattered.

With everything else going on in our household, the task was daunting.

But I made progress.

I figure I am about two-thirds of the way through. For now, the ones I have sorted and saved are divided by year in photo boxes to deal with someday.

Sooner rather than later, I hope.