By March. Cody started coaching Colton's T-ball team. The Broken Arrow Bulldogs — six five-year-olds, one dad-coach with a book on youth baseball, and approximately zero coordination among any of the participants including the coach. Cody called me after the first practice and said, "None of them can catch." I said, "They're five." He said, "I can't throw straight." I said, "You're thirty-one." He said, "This is harder than painting cars." I said, "Everything is harder than the thing you're good at."
I went to the first game. Brought food, obviously — a cooler full of orange slices (the universal youth sports snack), juice boxes, and a batch of cookies because I can't go anywhere without feeding people and a T-ball game is no exception. Colton played catcher (which at T-ball means "standing behind home plate looking confused"). He caught exactly zero balls. He picked up one ball that rolled to his feet and threw it in the wrong direction. The other team scored seven runs. The Bulldogs scored four. Cody, standing at the fence, coaching with the intensity of a man coaching the World Series, shouted, "Good effort, Colton!" seventeen times. Good effort. The phrase of a man who knows that effort is the only thing that matters, because effort is what kept him alive for eight years.
After the game, Colton ran to Cody and Cody lifted him up and held him and the two of them — father and son, coach and player, recovered man and innocent boy — stood in the sunlight on a T-ball field, and I ate a cookie and watched and thought: this is what recovery looks like from the outside. It looks like a man holding his son after a game they lost. It looks like "good effort" shouted seventeen times. It looks like showing up.
Those cookies I mentioned at the game? These are the ones — One-Bowl Monster M&M Cookies, because when you’re feeding a team of five-year-olds who just lost 7–4 and a husband who coached with his whole heart, you don’t show up with anything that requires explanation. You show up with something bright and chewy and impossible not to smile at. I made a double batch that day, and I’ll be making them for every Bulldogs game from here on out — because “good effort” deserves a cookie.
One-Bowl Monster M&M Cookies
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 11 min | Total Time: 26 min | Servings: 24 cookies
Ingredients
- 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
- 3/4 cup granulated sugar
- 3/4 cup packed brown sugar
- 2 large eggs
- 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
- 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1 1/2 cups M&M candies (plain or peanut)
- 1 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
- 1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips (optional)
Instructions
- Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 375°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone baking mats and set aside.
- Cream butter and sugars. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter, granulated sugar, and brown sugar together with a hand mixer or sturdy wooden spoon until light and fluffy, about 2–3 minutes.
- Add eggs and vanilla. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then stir in the vanilla extract until fully combined.
- Mix in dry ingredients. Add the flour, baking soda, and salt directly to the same bowl. Stir until just combined — don’t overmix.
- Fold in the mix-ins. Gently fold in the rolled oats, M&M candies, and chocolate chips if using, distributing them evenly throughout the dough.
- Scoop the dough. Drop rounded tablespoons of dough onto the prepared baking sheets, spacing them about 2 inches apart. Press a few extra M&Ms onto the tops for looks if you like.
- Bake. Bake for 9–11 minutes, until the edges are just set and lightly golden. The centers will look slightly underdone — that’s perfect. Do not overbake.
- Cool on the pan. Let the cookies rest on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. They firm up as they cool and stay wonderfully chewy.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 210 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 29g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 105mg