Are Auston Matthews Parents Still Involved In His Training?

Keeping a short kids mullet fade sharp takes a little routine but nothing too fancy. I start by trimming the sides every 2–3 weeks with clippers so the fade stays tight; I use guard 1 or 2 at the temples and then blend up with a 3 or 4 as I approach the top. When I do it at home I follow a slow, steady rhythm: clip the sides, switch guards to blend, then go back with the clipper-over-comb to soften any harsh lines. For the back length that gives the mullet vibe, I leave about 1.5 to 2 inches and snip split ends with scissors so it stays neat without losing the shape. Washing and styling are half the battle. I shampoo and condition twice a week and use a light leave-in or texturizing spray on damp hair; a small amount of matte paste helps shape the front without making it greasy. I also tidy the neckline and around the ears with a trimmer between full trims, and I show my kid how to tilt their head so we get even edges. When I notice cowlicks or odd growth patterns, I tweak the blend with the clippers on a low guard. Barber visits every 6–8 weeks keep things sharp if you prefer hands-off maintenance, but for my household the at-home routine and a good set of guards keep the mullet looking cool and manageable. I enjoy the little ritual of it, and it's fun seeing them grin when the haircut really pops.

Sometimes the trick isn't more time, it's a quieter head. I keep a running brain-dump list where I empty every little obligation—school emails, dentist appointments, birthday presents—so my mental RAM isn't clogged. That external memory lets me be present with the kids instead of ping-ponging between the stove and a mental calendar. Over the years I learned to chunk tasks: mornings are for prep and reminders, afternoons for errands, evenings for wind-down rituals. That rhythm reduces last-minute scrambles and the meltdown cascade. I also use tiny, low-friction systems: a single shared calendar, a simple meal rotation, and a whiteboard by the door for daily priorities. Those visible anchors mean my partner and I don't have to rehearse the same logistics fight every week. The organized mind doesn't erase chaos, but it builds cushions—buffer time, contingency snacks, backup babysitters—so when the plot twist hits, we're flexible instead of frantic. It feels calmer knowing there are nets under the tightrope, and honestly, it makes family dinners more fun.

If you're hunting for a copy of 'I Married My Best Friend to Shut My Parents Up', there are a few routes I always check first. My go-to is major online retailers like Amazon and Barnes & Noble for both print and Kindle editions — they often carry the licensed English release if one exists, and you can read user reviews and check ISBN details. For digital-first releases, I look at BookWalker, ComiXology, Kobo, and the publisher's own store. If it was originally serialized as a webcomic or manhwa, official platforms like Tappytoon, Lezhin, Tapas, or Webtoon sometimes sell volumes or episodes directly, so checking those saves you from sketchy fan scans. If you want a physical copy and it's out of print or region-locked, don't forget specialty anime/manga shops (Kinokuniya, Right Stuf, local comic stores) and used marketplaces like eBay, Mercari, or AbeBooks. Libraries and interlibrary loan can surprise you too. Personally, I prefer buying through official channels when possible — supporting creators keeps my favorite stories coming — and hunting down a physical volume always feels like a small victory.

Wow, the timeline for 'I Married My Best Friend to Shut My Parents Up' is a little fun to trace — it first popped up online in late 2019 as a serialized web novel, and then it got an official comic adaptation the following year. The manhwa/webtoon version started appearing on major platforms in mid-2020, which is when a lot more readers outside the original novel’s circle started noticing it. By early 2021 several English translations and licensed releases began showing up on various webcomic sites and digital storefronts, so if you discovered it in English you probably ran into it around then. I ended up binging both the novel and the comic close together and loved seeing how scenes were expanded with the artwork; the adaptation gave quieter moments a lot more weight, which is why I still recommend both formats to anyone curious.

Growing up in a house where chores were treated like shared projects, I learned that teaching life skills to teens is less about lecturing and more about handing over the toolkit and the permission to try. Start small: pick one area—cooking, money, or time management—and treat it like a mini apprenticeship. I had my kid pick a few staple meals and we rotated who cooked each week. At first I guided everything, then I stepped back and let them plan the grocery list, budget the ingredients, and clean up afterward. That slow release builds competence and confidence. Another thing I found helpful was turning failures into learning—burned toast became a lesson in timing, a missed budget became a talk about priorities rather than a lecture. Set clear expectations (what "clean" actually means, how much money they get for a month, curfew boundaries) and use real consequences tied to those expectations. Mix in practical modules: an afternoon on laundry symbols and stain treatment, a weekend on basic car maintenance or bike repair, a quick session on online privacy and recognizing scams. Throw in role-play for conversations like calling a landlord or scheduling a doctor’s appointment. I also encourage making things visible: a shared calendar, a grocery list app, and a simple budget sheet. Watching a teen take charge of a recipe or pay their own phone bill for the first time feels like passing a torch—it's messy, often funny, and deeply satisfying.

Growing up, I loved hearing stories about the small, practical ways my family made things happen, and Auston Matthews’ childhood vibe always feels familiar to me. His dad worked as a construction contractor — long, hands-on days building and fixing things, often coming home with tool-worn hands and a practical, get-it-done attitude. That kind of background explains a lot about the grounded, hardworking aura Auston shows on and off the ice. His mom worked as a dental hygienist; regular hours, precise, caring work that helped keep the household routine steady and reliable. Those two occupations — one tactile and labor-heavy, the other meticulous and people-focused — make a neat picture of the support system behind a pro athlete. I can picture the family schedule: practice drop-offs squeezed between job shifts, Saturdays for tournaments, parents trading off time to drive and cheer. It’s not glamorous, but it’s exactly the kind of steady community that breeds dedication. I love imagining how those everyday jobs shaped his discipline and humility, and it just makes his rise feel even more earned and human.

Wow — this little detail always sticks with me: Auston Matthews was born in San Ramon, California in 1997, but his family moved to Arizona when he was still a toddler. From everything I've read in player bios and profiles, his parents relocated to Scottsdale in the late 1990s or very early 2000s, so he basically grew up as an Arizonan kid. That move gave him consistent access to the local youth rinks and programs that shaped his early skating and hockey instincts. Growing up in Arizona isn't the first image people have when they think of NHL stars, but that early family decision clearly mattered. His parents' support — moving states when he was so young — let him develop with local coaches and travel teams, and later on they supported the choices that took him overseas briefly during development before he shot up the ranks to the NHL. It's a reminder of how much family choices behind the scenes can change a career path, and I love picturing a tiny Auston zipping around Scottsdale rinks.

Lately I get this low-key panic whenever I post anything that could be searchable by family — it’s why I tightened a bunch of habits that protect my parents from accidentally seeing my desi net clips. First, I locked down every platform: set profiles to private, removed location tagging, and nuked any cross-posting that links one account to another. I also stopped using my real name and profile photo on public channels; a pseudonym and a distinct avatar cut a lot of accidental discoverability. On devices at home I set up separate user accounts and switched on content filters and safe search for browsers. I don’t save passwords on shared machines, and I always log out after uploads. For apps, I disable automatic downloads and sharing to cloud backups that family devices might access. Finally, I made sure old content and thumbnails that felt risky were either edited to blur faces or removed entirely, and I keep a list of where things are posted so I can DMCA or request takedowns if anything leaks. Doing these things made me breathe easier and I sleep better knowing my folks won’t stumble upon surprises.